


Greater Than, Lesser Be

by writing_as_tracey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Non-Consensual relationships, Revenge, Time Travel, love potions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and several others he knew ingested love potions; great—he could deal with that. But knowing that he found this out before and the people he trusted erased his memory and sent him back in time to relive his worst nightmare, again and again? Not this time if Harry Potter had anything to say about it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Greater Than, Lesser Be

Kneazle

**Summary** : Harry and several others he knew ingested love potions; great—he could deal with that. But knowing that he found this out before and the people he trusted erased his memory and sent him back in time to relive his worst nightmare, again and again? Not this time if Harry Potter had anything to say about it!

*

_Andy Bellefleur:_ In my book, if no one thinks we’re heroes, it don’t count.

_Jason Stackhouse_ : Of course it counts! It’s like if a tree falls in the woods; it’s still a tree, ain’t it? The whole point in being a hero is to do something greater than yourself. It’d be easy to do it for the glory or the girls, but we’re bigger men than that, right?

\-- _“Beyond Here Lies Nothing”_ , True Blood, 2009

 

*

PART ONE

*

            “Bollocks,” muttered Harry, shaking loose mud off his dragonhide boot. He had just stepped into a pool of mud, the earth turned after the torrential rainstorm the previous night. And in Wales, where the sun rarely ever shone, mud puddles in the Brecon Beacons was fairly normal.

            Harry Potter was twenty-seven years old. He had survived several murderous attempts on his life; surviving those, and later Voldemort’s final attack on him a decade past, had led to his current predicament. Upon Voldemort’s demise, Harry followed the path set out before him (rather, manipulated him into), and joined the Auror forces. He rose steadily in rank until he was second in department at the DMLE, but then something miraculous happened.

            He was poached.

            A private Saudi firm that undertook high-profile cases poached Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived (twice), the Defeater of Voldemort. In translation: Harry was a hired contractor. In layman’s terms, beyond the euphemism, Harry Potter was a paid assassin to do other people’s dirty jobs.

            And strangely Harry kind of… _liked_ it. He didn’t take orders from Kingsley Shacklebolt; he didn’t report to the Minister of Magic in Britain who would give him a dressing down about damaging his reputation and that of Britain. In fact, the only dressing-down he ever received was from his mother-in-law, Molly Weasley.

            _Molly Weasley_ , just _thinking_ the woman’s name had Harry clenching his jaws in anger.

            Harry had been a good little boy. He followed his orders and let Dumbledore’s manipulations continue once he had died. He courted Ginny; he married Ginny; they had children. Ron and Hermione dated, on and off, before finally marrying; all was well.

            Fucking _bullshit_.

            His employer—a man that Harry only had contact with about once or twice a year, depending on his target and hit—had left him a rather large file after he completed his most recent job in Malta. The file contained information about Dumbledore’s manipulations, dating back from before Harry’s initial death when he was seventeen. Most of it was things he had already guessed: knowing about the prophecy but doing nothing, the Horcruxes and waiting for Harry to ‘deliver’ them and be killed by Voldemort… nothing new on that front. He may not like it, but he understood it was war and he was a part of it. He sure as hell didn’t forgive the dead Headmaster for it, though.

            But the new information… that was a real eye-opener. Hermione once told him that Molly Weasley had shared information at Hogwarts with her and Ginny about how she used a love potion—Harry didn’t think anything of it at the time; everyone did stupid things as kids, didn’t they? —But then there was the file. And all the incriminating evidence in it.

            Love potions, _confundus_ charms, power binding, amulets—on him, on Hermione, on other unsuspecting people within the Order, the Defence Association. Harry felt his blood boil as his rage reached epic heights. But what was he going to do with the information, he wondered?

            He didn’t go to Hermione—despite her rather unfortunate and unhappy marriage, it would devastate her even more than her parents’ refusal after they regained their memories in Australia. Luna—her mind was warped and he wasn’t sure how she would handle the news of the attempts. Thank _Merlin_ she was weird enough that nothing stuck to her. But Neville, and Dean, and Seamus, and Parvati and Lavender, and Cho and Dennis and Justin and Hannah and Susan…

            Nearly every single one of the DA’s names were listed. So were Tonks’s, Remus’s, and Hestia Jones’s names.

            Then his employer contacted him again, about a new job. Harry was in half a mind to turn him down—he couldn’t deal with the painstaking application of months of research and reconnaissance required for his hit when he had this shit to deal with… but his employer _insisted_. So Harry went, and listened, and gleefully accepted.

            His new target was not a kill, but rather an interrogation: find and detain one Missus Molly Weasley. If possible, Ginevra Weasley-Potter as well.

            _Easy-peasey, lemon-squeezy_ , thought Harry. His mother-in-law wouldn’t hesitate to come over and prod and poke into his and Ginny’s business about giving her grandbabies, and Ginny wouldn’t see anything strange in inviting just her mother over for a meal.

            Or, so Harry thought. Because it did go well, until the interrogation. Molly, well, she answered affirmative to everything, under Dumbledore’s orders. But Ginny—she was always a snake in the grass. She slipped past Harry’s defences and his magic, and ran out the back door, leaving Harry to chase after her.

            So there he was, chasing his soon-to-be-ex-wife across the Brecon Beacons, muddy and more than a little annoyed as she tried to reach the end of their anti-Apparition wards before he caught up with her.

            Thank _Merlin_ he was wearing his hitgear, having just come back from a meeting with his employer. He caught up with the b- _witch_ just in time, hitting her across the middle in a rugby tackle and bringing her down painfully to the unforgiving Welsh landscape.

            “Nice try, my lovely,” chuckled Harry darkly. “But not tonight, love. We’re going to have a little chat, you and me.”

            “Fat fucking chance, Potter!” spat the redhead, writhing and twisting in her husband’s grasp as the man tried to keep a hold of the squirming woman, getting soaked and caked in slippery mud in the process.

            He swore and cursed as one of Ginny’s hands and then legs came free; they scrambled around a bit, but then she had her wand in her hand, pointed at him, inches from his face and he was glaring murderously at his wife.

            “Don’t make me do it,” she warned, hand steady. “Because I will.”

            “So why did you do it, why did you go along with it, Gin?” asked Harry, desperately seeking the answer to her treachery.

            The young redhead laughed. “Why _wouldn’t_ I, Harry? The chance to marry the Boy-Who-Lived, to see all _my_ dreams come into existence? The prestige, the money, the honour? Pick one. They’re all right, and they’re all _wrong_ reasons.”

            “I don’t understand,” murmured Harry, dazed and confused.

            “It doesn’t matter, Harry,” sighed Ginny, barely glancing away for a moment—she knew her husband’s talents and skills well enough to never waver or take her eyes off him. “In the end, what matters was that you did what you were supposed to do: kill the villain, marry your best friends’ little sister, save the world, live your life. It was what everyone wanted for you.”

            “It wasn’t the life I wanted!” Harry was suddenly angry. He began shouting at his wife, in her face as he let his feelings go on the matter. “I _never_ wanted to be the Boy-Who-Lived, I _never_ wanted to save the world or have people look up to me, or lead them into battle! I _never_ asked for it in the first place!”

            “Too bad,” snorted Ginny, a scowl on her pretty face, “Because you got it. And you’ll deal with it just like you’ve dealt with everything else. You knew what Dumbledore did to you, and yet you’re still here, aren’t you? You’ll go along with this like you went along with everything else—never questioning, never asking why.”

            Blinded by fury, Harry replied. “Not anymore,” he growled out.

            “Yes, you will. Again, and again, and again,” she whispered.

            “ _What_?”

            “Did you think this was the first time you learnt of this?” here, Ginny mockingly laughed in his face. “Dumbledore had other plans in mind Harry—and you’ve done this before and you’ve _never_ changed.”

            “Oh, God,” breathed Harry, as the implications flooded to him suddenly, causing him to revert to his Muggle upbringing. It was unlikely that the manipulations that shaped so many lives would go unnoticed, and eventually some kind soul, or one with their own ulterior motive, would contact Harry and let him know what they’ve discovered. Harry, being quick to anger, would go after those responsible—every time.

            _And again, and again, and again_ , said Ginny.

            She knew he had done this before. When, who knew? But he’d gone after her, or Molly, or _Dumbledore_ with his suspicions and they stopped him. By removing his memory of the event—no—his contact would get back in touch with him and do it again, repeating the cycle. They did something else.

            Then, he remembered Dumbledore’s rather blasé disregard of time travel in his third year.

            “You _didn’t_!” Harry gapped, letting his wife go as he scrambled to his feet.

            “I never did, no,” she confirmed, “but Dumbledore did, twice. Once it was Snape, I think, when you sorted into Slytherin. Last time it was mum. But I knew what to do, if it ever came to this.”

            Harry’s wand pointed at his wife in an instant; he wouldn’t let her send him back in time again, letting fate follow the same pre-set pattern that they developed for him.

            “I’d rather die,” swore Harry, his green eyes glittering in the dark.

            “That can be arranged instead, sweetie,” agreed Ginny, a deadly glint in her own eyes. “We’re happy; we won. You don’t _need_ to exist anymore, Harry. You’ve done your purpose.”

            Harry took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled loudly.

            Ginny continued, “ _But_ no one stopped you before by death, even though rumours are that the last time you confronted Dumbledore you were in your sixties and we were at peace for ages… so I suppose I’m obliged by the same force that compelled them.”

            Her eyes were not sorrowful as she levelled her wand. A brisk, November wind caught her loose, red hair, and her mouth settled into a firm line.

            “I’m sorry, Harry. I’ll see you on the other side, my love,” she finished with a slight smirk.

            Dispirited, Harry watched in horror as she began to wave her wand, a strange accent and words emerging from her mouth as her wandtip lit up and began to sketch eerie-looking symbols in the air between them.

            Harry was still within his wards—he couldn’t escape via Apparation or Port-Key. Instead, he put his limited runes knowledge to the test and began his earnest to combat whatever Ginny was doing. He began to sweat as the air around him began to heat up, the air thrumming and the images of his wife and the barren Welsh landscape beginning to waver.

            And just as the last syllable of Ginny’s spell fell from her lips, Harry frantically sketched one last symbol, swallowed heavily and vanished in a brilliant flash of light. The light startled three nearby cows, and the wave of energy that the flash emitted knocked Ginny off her feet.

            When she opened her eyes, and sat up, she looked at where Harry last stood. If all went to plan, and she did the spell correctly, then there would be a dead twenty-seven year old Harry Potter where she last left him.

            “Oh, bugger,” she muttered, instead.

            All that remained of Harry was his pair of mud-cased dragonhide boots. She mucked up the spell royally, and who knew what was going to happen because of it? She sighed. At least she could file a missing person’s report with the Ministry in the morning. _Her_ world might—just _might_ —be safe from Harry’s vindictive nature, but she wasn’t so sure of the place where she sent him.

            _Oh well_ , she thought, _it wasn’t her problem anymore_.

            And with that, she Apparated back to her home that she shared with Harry to tell her mother the news that she would be inheriting the Potter-Black estate. Some good came out of the nasty little situation, at least.

**

**Brecon Beacons. November, 1983: 11:45pm.**

 

            Harry had a _serious_ headache and spots were flashing before his eyes, disorienting him. He muttered and cursed Ginny Weasley under his breath, calling her all manners of names as he blinked the spots away and rubbed a callous hand against his left temple.

            And then blinked in surprise as the spots disappeared.

            He was in the same bloody place as he had been while arguing with Ginny and fighting for his life and memories.

            He nervously patted himself down, doing a mental check: head, still there, nothing bleeding; chest, the same, and still wearing his hitgear black vest of dragonhide and Kevlar underneath; trousers, same material and not torn; belt, still on tight with his Holly and Phoenix-feather wand, _plus_ the Elder wand, and several interesting Weasley Wheezes that he normally took on hits. A quick feel to his back located his Beretta, and the extra ammunition he carried in a pouch off to the belt’s side.

            Yet… his feet were decidedly cold.

            Harry looked down and nearly burst out laughing. He was standing in a mud puddle! He lifted one foot, noticing idly that he had somewhere lost his boots along the way. His big toe was sticking out of his right foot’s black Primark sock.

            _Well then_ , he thought, _isn’t this interesting_? Whatever he had done had counteracted something Ginny had done, but whether it moved him forward or backwards in time was another question altogether—and the knowledge of _when_ he was would be immediately required.

            With a sigh, Harry grimaced and rolled his shoulders. One way to find out when he was, was to Apparate to Diagon Alley. If he could, then he was in a time before his twenty-first birthday, when he purchased the plot of land and moved into his Welsh home.

            Harry appeared in Diagon without incidents, settling on a grim smile as he stepped out of the shadows near the Three Broomsticks, bootless. No wizard would think that strange, the eccentric lot of sheep that they are. He began to make his way to Gringott’s.

            Ah, the goblins. Another one of life’s necessary evils. _Fucking bastards_ , thought Harry, recalling Griphook’s betrayal. He couldn’t have that happen again. How to handle this, how to handle it?

            Well, he always had an emergency stash of Galleons on him somewhere, and perhaps after some negotiations he could persuade the beasts to look the other way?

            Upon entering Gringott’s, the first thing he noticed was the lack of hostility against him. Ever since he, Ron and Hermione had broken into the famed bank, the goblins were always one spear away from Harry shish kabob.

            “How may we service you tonight, wizard?” the goblin greeted Harry jovially as he approached the lone teller, eyeing it strangely.

             “I wish to withdraw money from my account,” answered Harry, almost hesitantly.

            “Does the wizard have his Gringott’s key?” continued the goblin, now eyeing Harry strangely.

            Goodness, didn’t he recognise the saviour of the wizarding world? Harry never considered himself egotistical, but surely even the goblin knew who he was, after Voldemort’s defeat and his own bank heist?

            “Um,” began Harry, fishing around his pockets for his key. “It’s here somewhere… somewhere… aha!”

            Presenting the little golden key to the teller, the goblin examined it, glanced at the number, and then glanced again, startled. He raised his black beedy eyes at the man in front of him, and inquired, “Mr. Potter, sir?” in the politest tones he’d ever used.

            “Yes?” answered Harry, just as confused.

            “Could you please explain to Gringott’s as to why you are a young man and not the three-year-old you should be?” the teller finished, an imperial brow arched.

            Stumped, Harry felt the world around him shatter. Three-year-old?! Good _God_ , had Ginny mucked up so badly with him and his rather inadequate runes that she had sent a fully-grown Harry Potter into the past where his three-year-old self still resided at the abused Dursley’s?

            That certainly changed things. That changed things _a lot_. Harry was a fully grown wizard—he also possessed all three Deathly Hallows and used them quite often in his line of duty. He had a good amount of money on him, and had the resources and skills available to remove mini-Harry-him from the Dursley’s… but… Hermione’s voice of never letting yourself see you in time travel could mean bad things for Harry if the two were to meet—as in, _world go boom_.

            Not good. What was his second option?

            Take the money and do something about the information he learnt. Somehow, he managed to keep his memories. He knew every name on the list who were abused and manipulated by Dumbledore over the years; he knew where the Horcruxes were, what the prophecy was. He knew what stocks would rise and which would fall—hell, he knew that the Chudley Cannons would finally win their first game against Puddlemere United in the spring of 2001.

            But how could he manage to find the Horcruxes, aid mini-Harry-him in the quest against Voldemort, sneak him out from under Dumbledore’s nose, and _not_ have the world go boom at their first meeting?

            The twenty-seven year old was still pondering this, blithely ignoring the goblin and his growing suspicious look. Finally, the young wizard snapped his fingers and made his decision.

            “Goblin, I require access to my vault. As you can see, something rather _strange_ happened to me and I am now… much older than I ought to be. I will need the monetary resources of my vault to learn to reverse its effects.”

            If there was ever a human phrase that the goblin acquired over the years, it was _bullshit_. He smelled a rat and a con in a second, and wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. In the end, he revealed his own suspicion on the wizard.

            Harry didn’t think the plan would work, so haggling began. Yes, he was Harry Potter, but a different one (he certainly wasn’t going to trust the goblins with all his knowledge, but a minimal amount, thank you very much!); no, he wasn’t trying to swindle the young Harry Potter out of his inheritance.

            Finally, the lone goblin agreed to let Harry see his vault, but was only allowed to remove a small amount—something barely noticeable and explained away by poor management of a lowly goblin who would be executed once the details were noticed (but not _him_ , oh no sir).

            Harry left Gringott’s with the date (November 6, 1983), all his body parts, but a dispiriting lack of Galleons that he had transferred into British notes. For all efforts, Harry pooled the majority of his Galleons from his secret stash to the miniscule amount that the goblin had kindly allowed him to take from his own vault, to have the combined amount of £66,000.

While quite a lot for a country in a recession and stuck stretching their piggy banks, Harry wasn’t quite sure what sixty-six thousand could buy him. Not for what he had planned. No, he was going to need someone with brains that he could trust to manipulate the accounts that he’d be opening at Lloyd’s in the morning, and even more so, he was going to need someone who could play the stocks using Arithmacy like a cheater could count cards at Blackjack.

In fact, Harry had many things on his plate, unfortunately, and he needed a good, quiet place to get them sorted. So he went to the Leaky, got a room, and pulled out the file that his employer had given him. There were several loose-leaf pieces of A4 at the back, so he used those as his start.

He quickly got used to using a quill, found in one of the room’s drawers, and dipped it in the inkpot he also found. Then, he began his list:

 

  1. Start his company to jump-start his plan. (Harry would go back and add details to this later)
  2. Hire a competent account of some sort that knows about the magical world.
  3. Break Sirius out of Azkaban? (Harry then scratched this out)
  4. Find the Horcruxes
  5. Train Harry, little-me
  6. Invest my money



 

He would have added more, but he began to realise his plans were half-assed and half-formed. Unsure of how to progress, Harry realised something.

            He needed someone on the inside who would trust him. But who? It would be a big risk, either way… and then answer came to him: with a wizard’s oath, Harry would approach Remus Lupin. He only prayed that Remus wasn’t still as fanatically loyal to Dumbledore now with his friends’ deaths and incarceration only a few years old than he was a decade later when he began to work at Hogwarts.

            Fate would decide. Otherwise, thought Harry grimly, he was going to back to his old job and he might have to acquire a new target.

*

            It took him near a week, but he finally found Remus Lupin in a small, run-down cottage in rural Cornwall. The full moon had been several nights ago, so Harry was going in under the impression that Remus would be too exhausted to fully fight back.

            In between following leads about the elusive werewolf, Harry also multitasked and found an abandoned warehouse in London’s seedier neighbourhoods that would ultimately suit his purposes—or at least, one of the numerous purposes his company was going to have.

            Also hoping to court favours in the non-magical government, Harry registered his company. In the end, there would be no reason to use the Fidelius or hide his company from either non-magical, or Voldemort or Dumbledore’s eyes. Not if what he was planning would work.

            With the bulk of his sixty-grand gone, Harry was in a bind and _needed_ Remus on his side. He needed his brains and creativity—and if Harry was honest too, his contacts. Remus knew a lot of people, despite never really holding a job down, and since Harry knew of his condition he wasn’t going to care if the man took a few days off around the full moon each month.

            Deciding against a glamour or disguise, Harry approached the cottage door in his usual hitgear (and new boots), as himself: twenty-seven year old Harry Potter, black hair cut close to his head in spikes now, and with the vibrant emerald eyes of his mother. Unforgettable.

            Remus answered on the second knock—looked at Harry, and then promptly slammed the door in his face.

            Harry frowned. He was more used to this behaviour from Petunia. “Remus? Remus, open the damn door!”

            A _stupefy_ flew out from the side window in response, nearly hitting Harry on the main porch.

            “Really?” he rhetorically asked. “Seriously, Remus, open the door!”

            “And let you Death Eater scum take me? I don’t think so!” came the growled response from the other side of the door. Harry wisely dove out of the way as several kitchen knives penetrated and burst through the thin wood, disappearing into the nearby foliage.

            “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Remus, I am _not_ a Death Eater!” retorted Harry angrily, bringing the Elder wand up and slashing briskly at the front door, which exploded inwards.

            With the ease and experience of a child soldier, Harry burst into Remus’s cottage and immediately engaged the man in battle. He didn’t use force; he didn’t want to permanently hurt the werewolf, but the man wasn’t exactly playing nice either.

            After several cuts on his face and the back of his hands, Harry had enough and used the Elder wand’s powers to yank Remus’s wand from him, and the bind the man to the nearby sofa seat.

            Remus glared at Harry, snarling under his breath as the man inched closer to one of his father’s old friends—who, as Harry realised and then stopped suddenly, was _younger_ than him.

            “Oh fuck,” muttered Harry, as he raised his right hand with his wand in it, to scratch to his head. The wand rubbed against his black hair as Harry pondered how to handle the new development. He hadn’t expected that he would be older than his parents’ friends, but… Lily and James Potter had Harry at 20, in 1980. In 1983, Remus, Sirius and Peter would only be twenty-three or twenty-four years old… nearly four years younger than Harry currently was!

            At the sight of the supposed Death Eater confused and frustrated, Remus took an experimental sniff and was floored—the scent of wood, ash and a unique Potter scent overwhelmed the still hypersensitive werewolf quirks, causing Remus’s inner wolf to howl.

            “James?” whispered Remus, pale now.

            Harry’s eyes darted back to the werewolf, and visibly deflated. “Sorry, no.”

            “But… how?” now Remus was looking at the man up and down, noting every nuisance that Harry had, and comparing him to James Potter. “You look like…”

            Harry found the strength to muster up a grin. “As everyone says,” he offered. “If I release you from the bind, will you promise not to attack me?”

            Reluctantly, Remus nodded. The incantation from Harry’s wand released the werewolf from his bind, and as he slowly stretched and rotated his hands, Remus noticed the little changes that separated the man from James Potter.

            Shorter. Thinner. Held himself differently. Smelt a bit differently, too, now that Remus was paying attention—and the real kicker that sucked the air from his lungs: the man’s green eyes.

            It clicked, far quicker than Harry had expected.

            “ _Harry_?” gapped Remus.

            “Hiya, Moony,” replied Harry, a small smile stretching his lips. “I think we should sit down and have a little chat. What do you think?”

            “This had better be good,” growled Remus, considering the implications that his supposed three-year-old practically adopted packmate and son had inadvertently created.

            Harry nodded. “Oh, trust me—it is.”

*

**London** **. December, 1983.**

 

            Harry never had to question Remus’s loyalty. Years upon years of being removed from his friends and ‘pack’ left the man vulnerable to outside influences, but with Harry making contact with the remaining Marauder, Remus was able to suppress outside influence and easily consider what Harry told him of his journey to the past, as well as show him the file that his employer had delivered to Harry before that fateful evening in Wales.

            After reading the file, Remus was ready to let Moony out to have some fun, but Harry sat him down and explained what he wanted to do—and while it meant leaving Harry-little-him with the Dursley’s for the time being, and letting Sirius remain in Azkaban, it might possibly help them win the war in the future.

            Remus, although he didn’t always like the methods Harry was willing to take to get what he wanted (Dumbledore’s “Greater Good” and the adage, “the road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” sprang to mind immediately), the werewolf agreed to the rest—and having a steady job with annual income as well as time off during the full moon from an employer who knew what he was, was an added bonus.

            The first thing the two wizards did was travel to Harry’s warehouse.

            The second was to debate the company name. Finally, despite already being registered, Harry changed the temporary name of the company to the new one: Cloak & Dagger.

            Thirdly, he and Remus devised a plan to cultivate the little, precious money Harry had left and how to employ loyal workers who would do what Harry was going to ask them to do.

            In the end, it was Remus would found a solution to the third problem. And the solution was named Artemis O’Donnell, an incredibly old and decrepit wizard who never left his rather large and intimidating estate in Ireland, who had no children, no mistresses, no issue of any kind and a very strange relationship with old, first edition classics.

            Remus knew of him through several old contacts when he was working as an antiquity dealer a year previous, and had delivered several first edition novels to the old wizard. The wizard took a liking to him, and they kept in touch even after Remus was made redundant.

            “And how exactly is he going to help us?” questioned Harry sceptically.

            “You’ll see,” answered Remus, settling to explain. Harry remained sceptical, but the werewolf was optimistic. He went to see Artemis on a Wednesday morning and came back Saturday, ecstatic.

            “O’Donnell is in. He’ll want to meet you, but he thinks your idea if a good one, and is willing to finance us. He also updated his will to make you and _Cloak & Dagger_ the sole inheritor,” he explained on his return.

            Needless to say, Harry was impressed.

            The next day, he and Remus used a Port-Key to Ireland, and then Apparated to O’Donnell’s estate. The man, stuck permanently in a levitated chair, greeted them at the front door with a house elf beside him.

            “Mr. Potter, I presume?” the man asked in a scratchy, gravely voice, full still of an Irish lit that reminded Harry of Seamus Finnegan.

            “Hello, Mr. O’Donnell, sir,” greeted Harry, reaching for the stretched and feeble hand of the decrepit wizard.

            The two shook hands briefly, and O’Donnell led the two to his library. Once they were settled in rather comfy armchairs, with O’Donnell near the fireplace, the Irishman asked Harry to explain.

            “I’d sure Remus has already briefed you on what happened to me in the future,” began Harry, questioningly.

            “Yes,” said O’Donnell, inclining his head.

            Harry nodded. “Good—but as he doesn’t know yet all of my plan, I might as well share it with the two of you. First, we need to go back to the future.

            “The wizarding world _didn’t_ change once I defeated Voldemort for good. At all. In fact, I would say it almost fell into blind disregard of the past twenty-five years of guerrilla warfare that we engaged in. Once Voldemort was defeated, I’m sure that a few of us thought that Muggleborns would be given the same opportunities as Purebloods in the Ministry—that there wouldn’t be fake trials or Death Eaters buying their way out of Az.

            “That didn’t happen. One of my supposed best mates, Ron Weasley, ignored the way that Muggleborns lived before Hogwarts—and yet he was courting one of the smartest Muggleborn witches that ever lived. Despite coming from a blood traitor family, where his father worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department in the Ministry, they all considered Muggles to be below them. They didn’t understand how they lived, or worked, or got by without magic. A life without magic was inconceivable to them, just like for most Muggleborns life with magic before their Hogwarts letters.”

            “Where are you going with this, Mr. Potter?” asked O’Donnell, frowning. He was from an old, Pureblood line.

            “Could you explain to me, sir, where the Wireless came from?” asked Harry, nodding at the old-fashioned brown box that sat on the fireplace mantle.

            O’Donnell turned, stared at the music box, and contemplated. Then, he realised. “Oh, very good, Mr. Potter. _Very_ good.”

            “What?” asked Remus, glancing back and forth between the three objects.

            Harry glanced at Remus. “Did you think the Wireless was a magical device first, Remus?”

            “No…”

            “Exactly. Wizards took a non-magical device and changed it, utilising its properties to suit their needs. So why did they stop there? A wireless radio has been around since the turn of the twentieth century in the non-magical world. The TV has been around since about ten years after the radio,” explained Harry patiently, reaching into his miniscule non-magical education to present the facts. “Why didn’t wizards utilise the wide-reaching expanse of television? Why stop at the radio? Why still use candles when you’ve already changed and mutated something that ran on electricity to run in a magical environment? _Why not push it further_?”

            “You’re talking about… about non-magical technology?” asked Remus, hesitantly.

            O’Donnell shook his head. “Only a little, Remus. I think Potter here is talking about something larger. Otherwise he wouldn’t need my financial backing on this.”

            “Pretty much,” agreed Harry. “Ideally, I want to bring the wizarding world into the twenty-first century.” (He ignored Remus stating that unlike him, they were still living in the twentieth) “Let’s capitalise on what the other wizards failed to push forward. And then _expand_.”

            “You’ll have a good, strong base with the Muggleborns,” agreed O’Donnell, cackling. “But you won’t win the Purebloods.”

            Harry shook his head. “I won’t need to win the Purebloods,” he began cryptically, “And as for the Muggleborns—a census was done in my time in the future, the same year that I disappeared from. How many Muggleborns do you think there are to a Pureblood, or Half-blood?”

            Remus shrugged, as did O’Donnell, coughing into his hand.

            “The ratio is nearly 6:1,” stated Harry. “Hermione figured that out. For every six Muggleborns, or non-magically raised, there is only _one_ magically-raised or Pureblood.

“But let’s simplify. In my year alone, the magically raised were Ron Weasley, Parvati and Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Ernie MacMillan, Stephen Cornfoot, Su Li, and Morag MacDougal. That’s eighteen.

            “And for those of use muggle-raised? Myself, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, Tracey Davis, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Wayne Hopkins, Megan Jones, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Kevin Entwhistle, Anthony Goldstein and Lisa Turpin. That’s fifteen.”

            “And the magical-raised are more than the non-magical raised,” stated Remus. “So?”

            “Yeah, but some the magical raised are half-bloods. Meaning that they’d know how to hide and exist in the non-magical world. Those are Bulstrode, Cornfoot, Susan Bones, Smith and Li. Change the numbers: thirteen to twenty. Sixty-five percent are muggle-raised or can exist in a non-magical environment.”

            “That is a good number, but not definite,” agreed O’Donnell carefully. “So where are you going with this, Potter?”

            “How many are Quidditch fans?”

            “Excuse me?” asked O’Donnell, clearly thrown but the new topic of the conversation.

            “How many wizards and witches in the United Kingdom are Quidditch fans? Imagine—you don’t have the Galleons to see a match. It’s your favourite team and they’re in the play-offs. You _could_ listen to the match on your Wireless set—but why, when you have a television set instead where you can _watch_ the matches like you’re actually there?”

            “Are you suggesting that, like the Wireless, the company does the same to a television set?” questioned Remus, almost sceptically.

            “Yes,” agreed Harry, nodding solemnly. “And after that, to cameras to film the matches; then to computer units, and phones, and expand from there.”

            “Let’s say it could be done,” argued Remus, sensibly. “There is still the legal issue of getting around the Ministry of Magic and their ‘enchanting’ non-magical items.”

            O’Donnell agreed. “How would you get around that law?”

            “The same way the Wireless got around it. The WWN has been around for the same amount of time as the non-magical radio. If they can enchant it and have the Ministry approve it, then we can do the same to a television set,” explained Harry, crossing his arms and leaning back in the armchair. “All we have to do is get the Quidditch fanatics on our side. The manager of Puddlemere would be a _coup_ —think about the influence and money that they have. If they’re interested in a television that will broadcast their matches to their fans who are part of the club’s fanbase, but unable to get tickets… who loses?”

            “It’s a gamble,” murmured Remus, scratching his chin. “But it could work.”

            “And where would you go from there? Why television?” asked O’Donnell.

            Harry grinned, viciously. “Because in 1994, Hogwarts will host the Tri-Wizard tournament. And wouldn’t that be a lovely way to introduce Voldemort back to the magical world, caught on camera and everyone unable to dispute it?”

            “Oh,” said Remus, eyes wide.

            “Oh,” echoed Harry back, darkly.

*

            “But that’s only one aspect,” argued Remus a week later, as he and Harry sat down in their run-down office in the warehouse. “Television. We’d need cameras, and cables, and a way to broadcast it, and a studio to film things as well.”

            “Sure, this is why we have a large warehouse. We’ll need another for other things, though,” muttered Harry, flipping through various Ministry papers that would require him to fill them out before he enchanted anything. “And we’ll need a greenhouse for plants, and a pretty sturdy lab for some other experiments, and offices to hold meetings and interviews, and a hell of a lot of loyal employees who won’t jump ship at competitors.”

            “Competitors!” gapped Remus, “I hadn’t even thought of any to Cloak & Dagger.”

            “That’s because there won’t be any for about a decade. Not at least until mini-Harry-me goes to Hogwarts. Essentially, I want to remain a private company that will mass-produce our goods once we perfect them and sell them in exclusive contracts and rights to the Ministry and the International Quidditch Association. We get them on our side, globally, and we’re set.”

            Harry frowned. “Remus, do you still have those lists of the people involved in the _Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_? And the _Society for the Support of Squibs_? What better workers than those who others ignore?”

            Remus sighed and passed the lists over from his own folder. “Well, if we’re going to start hiring people, we’re going to need offices that look pretty swanky and an idea of how we’re going to keep them loyal to us without spilling secrets. As well as working out wages.”

            Harry looked up. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do now, Moony? C’mon, let’s start with Hassan Mostafa, from the Association. I’m thinking he’d be mighty interested in what we have to offer…”

*

            It took Remus and Harry nearly four months into 1984 to get the company fully up and running, as well as set up numerous meetings with Mostafa. At first, Remus and Harry used O’Donnell’s money to locate a rather nice plot of land in southern, rural England that had a view of the Channel. There, they purpose-built a four-storey office building, with an attached laboratory, greenhouses, and what Harry hoped to never use, a training and lab centre for an small army.

            But once Remus and Harry, with O’Donnell’s help, finalised their schematics for the television studio (which would remain in London), they decided to broach the IQA’s head.

            “You can’t use your name though,” argued Remus, from Harry’s left as they sat in first class on an Air Emirates flight to Dubai.

            “Why not?” asked Harry, affronted. He quite liked his name.

            Remus glanced at him, askance. “Well, it’s not like it’s _well known_ or anything, Harry.”

            “I booked the flight under Potter!” he argued back.

            “In the non-magical world, sure,” agreed Remus, whispering. “But in ours?”

            Harry huffed. “Fine.” He pouted a bit, but then a light blossomed in his eyes and Remus glanced at his best friends’ son in worry.

            “I don’t like that look. I really don’t like that look—James would get that look.”

            “Why, I have a new name to use! Perfect as the CEO of Cloak & Dagger, as well!”

            Remus swallowed. “Which is?”

            Harry grinned. “I’ll be known as Harry Houdini, the greatest illusionist and magician there ever was! Perfect!”

            Remus twitched. Despite not growing up under James and Sirius’s rather watchful and influential eyes, Harry Potter had strangely, as a young man, managed to turn out exactly how Sirius and James would’ve wanted him to. Remus was utterly terrified.

*

            Dubai was blisteringly warm and dry as the two stepped out of the air-conditioned airport. A sunglass-wearing, Armani-suited man was waiting for them beside a Lexus, holding the car door open as he ushered them in.

            “Mr. Lupin?” he queried.

            Remus nodded and offered Harry to go in first. The plush interior soothed Harry and Remus’s jetlag, but both were eager to meet with Mostafa and begin negotiations. Winning his endorsement would seal the company’s fate.

            The building that hosted the IQA’s head was elaborate, exotic, and exquisite. It was a typical stucco building, with many Arabic influences in the structure and architecture, but inside was typical wizard: larger than the outside, items floating or completing tasks without human hands, moving pictures (mainly of Quidditch).

            “Ah, Mr. Lupin! Welcome, welcome,” boomed a man from across the room. He was skinny, rather tall and weedy looking, and sported a fetching moustache.

            “Hassan Mostafa, I presume?” asked Remus dryly, holding out a hand to shake.

            The man reached forward and grasped tightly, pumping up and door. “Lovely Western tradition! Come, come, introduce me to your friend here, and let us go to the courtyard and have tea, shall we? Then we discuss work.”

            “Of course,” agreed Remus smoothly, indicating to Harry. “This is the founder and CEO of Cloak & Dagger, Mr. Mostafa, Harry Houdini.”

            Mostafa took a second glance at Harry as they passed under an archway, pushing open two white-latticed doors, revealing a lush tropical oasis in the middle of the desert. “Houdini, eh?”

            “I would like to say that it is my real name and my parents were messing with me at the time of my birth, but alas!” greeted Harry, dramatically, “I adopted the last name as my own.”

            “Eh, eh,” agreed Mostafa, “No worries, young Houdini. Your name is not important to me—business is!”

            The man indicated that Remus and Harry should sit. In the middle of the courtyard, located under a white cloth that stretched from four wooden posts, was a rectangular coffee table with silver service china presented and readied for the three men. Two comfortable pillows, on the flagstone courtyard floor, were for Remus and Harry.

            “Please, sit,” offered Mostafa. “We begin with mint tea. Then, business.”

            The head of the International Quidditch Association poured three teacups of mint tea, and offered Madeleine’s as a snack. After Remus and Harry both had a sip, Mostafa nodded. “Now, I was intrigued by Mr. Lupin’s incredibly vague proposal. After all, what could I, Hassan Mostafa of the International Quidditch Association, do for a company that has not yet produced anything? Perhaps, Mr. Houdini, you could elaborate?”

            Harry nodded, reaching for the folio he had with him. He and Remus helped clear a small section of the table and then opened the folio. He removed several pieces of parchment and A4 paper (which had Mostafa raising his eyebrows in surprise), and then laid them out for the man to read at his leisure.

            “Mr. Mostafa, please allow me to explain the idea behind Cloak & Dagger and what your position as the head of the International Quidditch Association can do for us…”

*

            On June 1st, 1984, Cloak & Dagger began its first round of interviews. They were for several genius wizards and witches from all over the world.

            The seven sat in the large boardroom that Harry and Remus would use to conduct massive interviews for numerous positions, as well as briefings. However, at the moment they were using it to introduce the company, give a tour, explain the wages and the secrecy oath that any and every employee at Cloak & Dagger would be required to take (from the lowliest house elf and janitor, to the senior managers working under Remus and Harry), and give a basis of the job that these scientists/experts would be performing.

            “Welcome to Cloak & Dagger,” greeted Harry as he swept into the boardroom, shutting the door behind him. Remus was already at one end of the oblong table, with the first, handpicked, seven that Harry and Remus were interested in:

            Camilla deBurgs, a middle-aged Swedish witch who studied at Durmstrang from a prominent Pureblood family but with the “unfortunate” baggage of a half-blood son from a failed affair with the Muggle, against her parents’ wishes. She also had a strange fascination with all things Muggle that put Arthur Weasley to shame…

            Jonathan Randolf, a young up-and-coming Muggleborn from the States, who struggled to meet ends’ due and was working two part-time positions for thankless sickles in the American government’s charms division and as a caddy in a potions firm.

            Yui Takasami, a brilliant and super-polite, young Asian witch with nothing less than six offers from different companies, governments, and countries who all wished to poach her talent—a talent that lay with the emerging robotics in the non-magical world and applying them to magical fields within the international-equivalents of the Auror divisions for magical warfare.

            Justine Hannah, a fresh-faced Aussie with a “dubious” background of having an Aborigine grandmother on one side of her family, which had her blacklisted and refused a magical—and for a while, a non-magical—education in rural north Australia. As bitter as Jonathan Randolf, Justine was eager and spoiling for a fight and ready to show that she was talented in magic and could work.

            Piers Meeker, a rather lowly government official from South Africa, had the brains and insight, as well as shrewd disposition, to see things that others could not. This elevated him to the position of a senior analyst in the South African magical government and had him sent out to numerous communities to check on magical users in non-magical environments, and pass out the necessary punishments.

Sebastian Vienelli, an elderly Italian who had retired from service in the Italian magical government’s potions and herbology unit in the mid-fifties, similar to St. Mungo’s in Britain. He had created several revolutionary potions for dragon pox and crup’s bite until it was discovered that he was selling the potions on the black market to Muggle parents who couldn’t afford the treatments for their ‘mudblood’ children when the hospitals refused to help the muggleborns.

And Edith Glover, a no-nonsense Welsh squib grandmother who happened to somehow be in the possession of nearly every contact in the magical – and non-magical – world. She retained friends from all over the globe, and happened to be quite the botonist, as well as well known in the non-magical world for her liberal love for herbal treatments.

Each would contribute to Harry’s company, adding bits here and there until everything was put together and he had a complete picture of the company he wanted to create—a progressive, competitive, and ruthless company that shredded Pureblood tradition and tied those which suited them to non-magical modernism.

“I know that you’re probably wondering why you’re here, or why you were offered hotel accommodation, airfare, and transport to come for an interview to a company you had never heard of. But before I get into all that, allow me to introduce my vice-president, Remus Lupin,” began Harry, pointing at Remus and sitting next to him. “I am the founder and President of Cloak & Dagger, Harry Houdini.”

There was a stilted snigger from Jonathan Randolf, the Yank, and Harry grinned. “Yeah, trust me, I get that a lot.

“Anyway; as for what you’re here for, well, I can’t really go into much detail. But here’s what I can explain, and if you’re smart—which I’m sure you are—you’ll pick up where I’m going with this without revealing anything.”

“Harry,” cautioned Remus, rolling his eyes. “You’re soap-boxing.”

“Right you are,” agreed Harry jovially. “Let’s begin.

“My private company is here to conduct research and experiments that will ultimately be released for sale purposes globally. We already have the first idea and the necessary paperwork filled out and approved from the British Ministry of Magic. Once a working proto-type is up, we’d be travelling to Saudi where Hassan Mostafa will oversee our next contact, and finally, our first customer. I’m aiming for governments or Quidditch associations.”

At first, the people Harry and Remus chose to attend the interview seemed interested, if not a little amused. Now, going down Quidditch, Harry could easily see the bored, vapid expressions the women were adopting. Eager to not lose them, Harry released a little more information.

“That being said, we’re not actually creating anything Qudditch-related.”

Camilla, Justine, and Yui now looked up. Edith was patiently taking notes and listening to what Harry had to say, regardless.

It was time to hook them, now that he had them baited. “In fact, what our product is, is something non-magical, _turned_ magical for practical, everyday use.”

Now everyone was sitting up, attuned to listening and waiting to see where this would go. After all, they were getting a free trip out of this.

Remus took over. “You might be wondering why you’re here now. Some of you are potions masters, or botanists, or herbologists. Some work with charms, and transfiguration and non-magical items. You’re here because you’re the best at what you do and we want you. We want your talents and your skills. Each little bit that you’re good at would add to the larger picture of the foundation of Cloak & Dagger.”

Piers tentatively raised his hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Lupin?” he began, in a thick South African accent, “But this product that you will be creating—is it the first of its kind? What guarantee would we have as your employees that the company would not buckle under the first year and render us out of a job?”

Remus grinned. “Excellent question, Mr. Meeker. We’re private, no one has come up with this product despite it being around in the non-magical world since the 1930s, and the oaths required to work at Cloak & Dagger require complete secrecy and compliance or there would be no job.”

“As for whether or not the company will buckle,” continued Harry, “it won’t. We’ve a strong financial backer, as well as Hassan Mostafa of the International Quidditch Association and all his money and contacts involved in the project. For a near sixty percent of the British population, it won’t fail. And if we expand globally, we’ll have an unrivalled claim to the niche market. Our plans and product are impossible to copy or duplicate, as the secrecy oaths do not allow any employees to discuss their work outside of the building to anyone. Within the building, only those within your department unless in on your current project, will know what you are working on.”

“Those are pretty tight security measures,” mumbled Justine, frowning. “Just what are we creating that would need such secrecy?”

Harry sighed inaudibly. He had one already onboard, without talking wages. “It’s not this actual project that would require the secrecy. It’s the later projects that will come once we make a name for ourselves. We’ll be the premiere manufacturer for progressive, modern magical items with a non-magical twist. Integration into the magical world will take some time unless you hit the biggest consumers in the market—the Quidditch and Quadpod fans. From there, we can expand easily into the daily home. But that’s this product—the rest…” Harry faltered. “They might not be to everyone’s tastes, I understand that, but once you’re within the company you have a right to bid and turn down projects as you see fit. Your salary would be secure.”

“What salary are we talking about here?” asked Sebastian, quietly. He sat at the table with his hands folded neatly on top, wearing an expensive, tailored wizarding robe. Clearly, money wasn’t an issue, but he was still curious.

“The current annual wage for a British ministry employee is under 1000 galleons. That’s mid-level management within most departments. That’s the equivalent to £5000, and pretty worthless to live on as an annual wage,” said Remus steadily, if not a touch bitterly. “Cloak & Dagger is registered in the non-magical world because of our close ties to the British government and companies. That means, should you work for C&D, you will not only need to be knowledgeable of non-magical customs and their culture, but you would need to be able to move effortlessly between the two. That places you in a company that is predominantly in the non-magical world, but selling magical items. You would easily receive, then, a non-magical annual starting salary of £40,316.44, or 8063G.4S and 25 knuts.”

There was a sudden inhale of sucked breath as the seven interviewees considered their wages. For Edith, she would be rejoining the magical community and receiving more than her retirement pension would ever pay her; for Jonathan, we would be making nearly twelve times over what he was making in his two jobs on a good day; the others were thinking similar thoughts.

Remus smiled gently. “Yes. The company does have these funds to pay you, and keep you quite happy with our projects, as well as any projects you wish to come up in your time here at Cloak & Dagger. Your ideas are our intellectual property, of course, but you do receive commissions and bonuses when they are sold.”

Yui and Camilla had not added to the conversation at all, and Harry was doing his best to keep his face impassive. It was hard to sell a company, and an idea, to a carefully selected group of talented people he wanted to hire without actually _telling_ them anything.

“Where do I sign?” asked Camilla suddenly. “I’ve got a son to feed and I’m not stupid enough to turn the money down. You said we can turn down any projects we don’t like?”

Harry and Remus nodded. Remus even went so far as to slide the contract to Camilla, near his seat, and point out the appropriate clause within it that allowed her to make that decision.

 Camilla began reading over the contract, a pen withdrawn from her purse and the cap off before she finished the first page.

The entire table was watching her, waiting for any outbursts. After a tense thirty minutes, as she carefully read over the contract twice, and asked questions about turns of phrase, which had Harry deferring to Remus, Camilla nodded.

She initialled every page, and signed the final one and dated it.

Harry smiled and stood, coming around the table to shake her hand and welcome her to company. In the meantime, there was the buffet table off to the side behind; would she care for some sandwiches and a coffee before they went on the tour?

As Harry played host, Jonathan requested a contract, as did Edith and Sebastian. Justine, Piers and Yui remained undecided, but asked to look over the contract as well.

“What length is the contract for?” asked Jonathan.

“Currently there is a probation period of three months, or until the completion of the first project with a review afterward. From then on, it’s renewable each year or indefinite for however long you wish to stay with the company until you want to retire, or if we have cause to think you might harm yourself or the staff,” replied Remus.

“Where would we be required to work?” queried Justine.

“In these offices, with a private office for personal work as study and research—but you also share a lab with your team members for when you need to collaborate or share information.”

“Who are…?”

“You’re looking at them,” responded Remus.

“Who do we report to?” asked Sebatian.

“Harry and myself, but predominantly Harry. This was his idea and it’s his baby,” answered Remus.

“What about family? I assume we’d be required to move and not floo in?” asked Jonathan.

Remus nodded. “We’ll help you find housing, pay the down payment or first months’ rent on a place of your choosing and help settle any moving costs for your family. We can’t go as far as get them jobs too, unless they have something we can use within Cloak & Dagger, but we can send them to the right contacts in the right places that can help them with employment or schooling.”

Jonathan signed, stood, and joined Harry and Camilla on the far side of the room.

Edith nodded in places and as she and Sebastian, the eldest in the room, began a low murmur of conversation and discussing their work as well as the contract, Remus watched with a careful eye as they signed their contracts.

Justine bit her lip, and making a firm internal decision, signed her contract as well. Only Yui and Piers remained undecided.

“Are there any questions you would like answered?” asked Remus, moving to sit near the two, who remained at the large table while everyone else got drinks and snacks.

“I do not like not knowing what we’d be producing,” admitted Piers, grudgingly. “I’m tired of following blind orders.”

“You can always turn this down,” replied Remus steadily. “You don’t have to take the job if it’s not sitting right with you—both Harry and I would understand that. As for the product, I can completely assure you other than possibly making wizards lazier than they are now, it won’t actually harm them.”

“Swear it?” asked Piers, eyeing Remus.

“On my magic,” he agreed, raising his wand. There was a flash of brilliant light that startled the other occupants in the room and which ceased their conversation.

Yui and Piers signed.

Harry shared a grin with Remus, clapped his hands for attention just like he used to when he was fifteen and leading the Defence Association, and smiled. “Now that’s all out of the way, let me show you Cloak & Dagger. Despite it’s rather ominous name, I promise we’re not really that bad. In fact, I can now tell you that our first product is actually a magical version of a television…”

“ _Are you fucking serious_?” blurted Jonathan, mouth dropping open.

Harry displayed a wide, toothy smile. “Scarily so, Mr. Randolf, but not all the time. In this case, we’re catering to the Quidditch fans to get a strong basis of the Ministry never over-ruling our product. And just _think_ of the revenue it will generate… as well as the monopoly we’ll have on studio space, and television _shows_ and acting schools…”

As Harry got caught up in his daydream of pulling the wizarding world into the future, the rest of his new employees, save Remus, began to see the extent of Harry’s dreams. And slowly, they too, realised that if they stuck with him, they could be a part of something that would change the world—or, alternatively, if they were young and ambitious, they realised that they would have a huge share in the market of creating the one-and-only items that Harry was hinting towards, as well as the prestige.

They didn’t know it, but those first seven employees would be Harry’s cornerstone in the niche market he was hoping for, as well as some of the brightest and most talented people he would ever find.

With their help, Cloak & Dagger was going to be on the map and bigger than even Harry envisioned. But first…

“Um, boss?” asked Jonathan, the young American, still spotty, broke into everyone’s daydreams. “How ‘bout instead of taking us on this tour, you show us where the toilets are, yeah?”

*

TBC...

 


	2. Part Two

Greater Than, Lesser Be

**

PART TWO

**

 _A man’s gotta do,_  
what a man’s gotta do.  
Don’t plan the plan,  
If you can’t follow through…  
  
All that matters,  
Taking matters into your own hands.  
Soon I’ll control everything,  
My wish is your command…

\-- “A Man’s Gotta Do”, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-A-Long-Blog

**

**Summer, 1988**

 

            It took four years, but Cloak & Dagger had not only a working demo of their Hitashi television, but they had a fully utilised and ready studio in London. Remus and Harry made some excellent decisions in their first employees; those employees were the most loyal they would ever have. They were also the ones who felt out their old employers and found other similarly disgruntled and underpaid employees who felt that a change was needed.

            Cloak & Dagger then grew to its current size of nearly 250 employees, all within numerous divisions and departments. Harry’s original seven were the Heads of their respective departments, or co-Heads, in Sebastian and Edith’s case.

            In the end, the team at Cloak & Dagger really came through for Harry—and Remus—and on Saturday, a team would be travelling to Saudi to meet with Hassan Mostafa, who would see the final tests in a pensieve recording. Then if they met with his approval, he would feel out the various leagues and team who might be interested in such a product.

            Saudi Arabia was, needless to say, very impressed and eager with Cloak & Dagger’s product and would receive the product at a discounted service running cost for their personal use.

            Harry and Edith remained behind in Britain as Remus and a few others travelled to meet with Hassan. Harry wanted to go, but had to oversee the final touches to the telephone system his teams were implementing and installing within the building that week.

            Now, he was waiting for confirmation from Remus. It would come in the mirror that Sirius once gave Harry—now, a lifetime ago, literally—for their brief, but instantaneous meeting.

            Harry, Edith, and the entire crew and teams that had all a part in creating the television set, including the box that would translate the magical signal, similar that the WWN used, into a visual onto the television screen, were assembled in the cafeteria, the largest part of the company.

            Finally, Harry’s mirror vibrated in his hand and Remus’s voice floated to him.

            “Harry? You there?”

            The room went silent as Harry waved his free hand. “What’s the verdict, Remus?” _Please, please let it have worked and that Mostafa was pleased. I can’t take failure of that magnitude so early in the game, with only less than a year to go_.

            After the four years, the twenty-eight year old Marauder slowly resembled the man Harry remembered Remus being in his previous timeline. The werewolf’s maturity, outlook, and personality were so similar… and so was that crooked, marauder smile.

            “He loved it! We’re to set up and preview a mock Quidditch match of Puddlemere next weekend to the British Department of Games and Sports, as well as the entire International Quidditch Association board.”

            The cafeteria filled with deafening cheers. The contract that the Ministry, as well as the other countries who would not want to be behind “backwards Britain” would sign, would be a huge revenue boost.

            “Harry?” continued Remus, barely heard over the cheers and catcalls.

            “Yeah, Remus?” asked Harry, light-headed.

            The man’s eyes softened. “You did well, Harry. You did _so_ well. They would be so proud of you.”

            Harry’s eyes went suspiciously wet and Remus ended their mirror-call. Edith flung her arms around Harry, smelling like a grandma, and kissed him nosily on the cheek.

            Cloak & Dagger was a success. And they weren’t going anywhere.

**

            Things moved quickly from that point on. To generate further loyalty and exposure to their products, all employees of Cloak & Dagger received free television sets if they didn’t have one before, and those who did, received the standard transmission boxes. Bonuses were handed out all around, and several employees booked holidays with their families in the upcoming summer months.

            For everyone else, it was business. Remus and Harry had to hire new employees at the Cloak & Dagger London location, within the studio. They changed the name to something apt: Prestige Studios; from there, they remodelled and reworked the studio to fit several back lots and dressing rooms, and created a news studio. They poached some of the best reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ , and in a bold move, Harry approached Luna’s father.

            “I’d still want you to be in charge of _The Quibbler_ , don’t get me wrong,” stated Harry as the two met for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron. “But I would like to also contract out your employees. You’ve got some talented reporters, and you’ve got some good contacts that our news station would love to have.”

            Xenophilius Lovegood mused over the decision during the working lunch they shared. In the end, he agreed; he would run _The Quibbler_ but Harry would have full access to his staff and contacts, with a percentage of the profits going to the Lovegood family.

            After the success of the demo magical television sets for Hassan Mostafa and the IQA, as well as the numerous Ministries of Magic, Remus and Harry needed to find a place for production—a mass-scale one—and then a store to sell them through. In the end, they rented out a large storefront in Diagon Alley, just near where the future Weasley Wizard Wheezes would be, and then had to find staff to hire. And somehow they became an instant success.

**

**Summer, 1991**

 

            Albus Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, with his Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Head of Ravenclaw Filius Flitwick, Head of Hufflepuff Pomona Sprout, and Head of Slytherin House Severus Snape, in front of him on the other side of his desk. They were going over the new incoming list of students for the 1991-1992 school year, trying to put together the class schedule and debating the new prefects and Heads.

            “Has anyone turned the offer to Hogwarts down?” questioned Albus, firstly.

            “No,” replied McGonagall, primly. “Although we had difficulties getting young Mr. Potter to receive his.”

            Severus Snape snorted, and McGonagall shot him a dirty look.

            “Hagrid reported that his relatives removed themselves from their home in Surrey to a hut on the Irish Sea to avoid the owls.”

            “Does Harry have the letter now?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling. The Boy-Who-Lived, soon attending Hogwarts! Albus had _such_ plans for the boy…

            “He’s coming,” confirmed McGonagall. “Hagrid is taking him to Diagon Alley later today.”

            “Excellent news,” smiled Dumbledore. “What news on our Defence Professor?”

            “Quirrell?” piped up Flitwick. “Well, he seems fine. We have Charity Burbage beginning as Muggle Studies professor, since Quirenus has asked for the new position.”

            Dumbledore frowned. “When did he request this?”

            Flitwick began sorting through some papers with a few swishes of his wand. “Two weeks ago. He applied on his return from Albania.”

            Sprout also frowned. “I thought he wanted time off and away from the children? He said that he wanted to further explore the Muggle world better for a stronger foundation in his curriculum.”

            “That’s what I thought too,” agreed Flitwick, turning to his co-worker. “So it is quite a surprise.”

            “Indeed,” mused Dumbledore, aloud. “As I have sent an owl to a candidate I thought would suit the role better.”

            “Who?” drawled Snape, although his coworkers, who knew him, saw how tense he had become. It was no secret that he wanted the Defence position.

            The twinkle returned to Dumbledore’s eyes. “Mr. Lupin. I thought he would make an excellent Defence professor, and with young Harry joining us this year, a good tie to his parents.”

            “Has he responded?” asked McGonagall, thinking back on one of her favourite students.

            Dumbledore pouted a little, here. “He has, stating he is too busy. However, he agreed to meet with me later this morning, before noon.” Dumbledore pulled out a strange-looking pocket watch and prodded it a bit with a free finger. “In fact, he should arrive here shortly. Until then, let us continue.”

            Within the next hour, the Heads and Headmaster completed their upcoming schedules for the school year, as well as debated the role of prefects and Heads to several candidates.

            Finally, Dumbledore broke off mid-sentence and with a bright twinkle, called out, “Please, come in Remus.”

            His office door swung open, and the room waited patiently (with one scowling) for a well-known and well-liked alumni.

            Dumbledore was expecting the Remus Lupin her knew: a Pureblood from a poor family, with faded, scruffy clothing and messy hair. A haggard expression on his face from scrimping and saving his sickles and knuts for rent and food. A man eager to take up the position offered to him by the man who let a werewolf into Hogwarts. Dumbledore was counting on all of that. Instead –

            Remus Lupin strode into the Headmaster’s office, looking every inch as if he owned it. He wore fashionable Italian-made leather shoes, paired with an expensive Armani suit in black with silver pinstripes. A gold Rolex adorned his right wrist, and matched his gold cufflinks. His hair was cut neatly with a small, rakish bit falling into his eyes and highlighting the amber colour. His fashionable appearance, in addition to his well-kept hair and closely-shaven face made his scars from Greyback’s attack look roguish; the smile on his face only added to his appeal.

            “Mr. Lupin!” cried out Sprout, rising to meet him. She stood back and surveyed him. “Merlin, you look well!”

            “Thank you, Professor Sprout,” agreed Remus genially. “I’ve had an excellent employer for the past decade, and an even more excellent job as you can see.” He turned to greet the others in the room. “Professor Flitwick, McGonagall, how are you?”

            They greeted him warmly and enthused about his wardrobe. Finally, Remus turned to Dumbledore and Snape.

            “Professor Dumbledore, how kind of you to welcome me back to Hogwarts,” said Remus, settling into a chair the Headmaster conjured for him. Eyeing his schoolyard enemy, Remus nearly growled, “ _Snivellus_.”

            Splotchy colours appeared on Snape’s shallow face, but the man bit off any retort.

            “Ah, Remus,” began Dumbledore, taking the werewolf’s attention from his Slytherin classmate. “It’s lovely to see you again. And you said that have had an employer for several years?”

            “Almost a decade now,” agreed Remus pleasantly, although there was a hard glint in his eyes that Dumbledore didn’t quite like. “I’m the Vice-President of the company.”

            “Congratulations!”

            “That’s wonderful news, Remus.”

            “Quite spectacular.”

            Remus bowed his head in thanks to the other professors who were quite pleased with their student, as well as learning the new gossip and playing catch-up. Dumbledore, however, looked sour for a moment before composing himself.

            “Quite brilliant, my boy,” he chuckled appreciatory. “Who is it you work for?”

            “Cloak & Dagger,” answered Remus, having been coached on what to say by Harry. “I’m in charge of the Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology units within the company. Those employees report directly to me.”

            “I have heard about Cloak & Dagger before,” began Dumbledore, slowly, “But I am unsure on what they _do_. Could you share, Remus?”

            “Of course,” agreed the werewolf, slipping into his usual sales pitch. “Cloak & Dagger is a private experimental magic and research firm that creates new techniques and lifestyle opportunities for the magical community. You’ve probably seen several of our products in Diagon Alley, I’m sure. These are items such as the MageBox, the magical equivalent to the television set, as well as our inner-office module of office supplies. I know the DMLE and DIMC use our communications telephone system, instead of the flying memos now.”

            “The what?” bit out Snape, frowning heavily. Having grown up in the non-magical world, he was familiar with the terms Remus was throwing out.

            “The Ministry tends to use flying memos to convey messages between the departments. It’s neither safe nor secure by any means. We’ve developed an item that is similar to the non-magical telephone, but we’ve combined it with the two-way communicators of linked mirrors and the Patronus charm,” explained Remus steadily. It was easy to see that he was comfortable with the terminology, as well as his role as the VP to pitch products to those who had no idea what they were about. “This way, all employees within the departments using our Chatter system will be able to instantaneously communicate without the memos, but also securely through visual communication like the Floo. There’s no way someone can hijack the Floo system now, looking to overhear conversations or catch unauthorised Floo callers.”

            Here, Remus cleverly forgot to mention that all conversations used in the Ministry departments that had the Chatter system were recorded and stored at the Cloak & Dagger Headquarters in Dorset.

            “Ingenious!” bubbled Flitwick, thinking of the combination of charms required to layer an item, and then to assume the upkeep on the product.

            “Thank you.” Remus inclined his head at his old Charms professor.

            “And you’re happy there?” asked Dumbledore, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “Because I would greatly appreciate it, Remus, if you decided to come to Hogwarts and join us as our Defence professor. Young Harry is beginning his first year.”

            Remus eyed Dumbledore, and considered the offer. He and Harry—the one from the future—knew from the moment they received the owl that this would happen. But there was still so much they needed to do—Charity Burbage had just been hired and yet no one looked at her resume, which would have shown that she had worked for a year at Prestige Studios, a conglomerate of Cloak & Dagger. They didn’t need Remus; not yet, anyway.

            “Thank you, but no,” answered Remus finally. “I’m quite happy with my position as Vice-President of Cloak & Dagger and have several long-term projects on the drawing board that require my attention.”

            “Very well,” interrupted McGonagall, shooting Dumbledore a look as he opened his mouth to say something. “We wish you all the best, Remus!”

            “Thank you, Professor,” grinned Remus. “You should stop by the Diagon Alley store Cloak & Dagger owns, _Whodunit?_ , when you have a chance, professors.”

            Flitwick grinned. “You are the Vice-President of a company called Cloak & Dagger, own a store in Diagon Alley called _Whodunit?_... why, Remus, what other themes does the company follow?”

            “You should meet the President,” answered Remus dryly as he headed to the door, pausing before exiting. “His name is Harry Houdini.”

**

            Harry was working at his desk when Remus walked in to the head office. He was solely concentrating on the papers in front of him, which Remus was sure were plans for their next project, the integral one for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and one of the culminations of Harry’s ultimate plans.

            “So how did it go?” asked Harry, without glancing up.

            “Fine. Dumbledore was _so_ disappointed of course,” answered Remus with a smirk, worthy of his Marauder days. “I’m sure he’ll try again.”

            “I have no doubt. We’ll have to do something soon with Grunnings so that we can get control of mini-me-Harry. He’s not going back to the Dursleys after this year,” agreed Harry, firmly. He then looked up and eye Remus. “Are you going to Azkaban this weekend then?”

            “Yes,” replied Remus shortly. Briefly, the werewolf was struck at how Harry looked, now thirty-five. Remus could only imagine what James Potter would’ve looked like had he lived; Harry was a splitting image of his father, but there were still notable differences.

            Harry’s emerald eyes were hidden behind fashionable glasses, and his wardrobe was like nothing James would ever wear, having been a jeans-and-jumper type man. Harry was into the power trip that well-made suits and the right shoes and accessories could bring. He had learnt it from his uncle, and later he learnt it from his employer and his contacts and hits. Harry also had that hard-nosed, shuttered look that war veterans had, and a sense of paranoia that blanketed the entire company as well as his private life.

            He had not had a date, to Remus’s knowledge, since he arrived in the past, and seemed more concerned about running Cloak & Dagger as well as implementing their long-term plans to change the wizarding world.

            Bitterly, Remus wondered aloud, “Do you even plan to survive the war when it comes?”

            Harry looked startled—a look that Remus had seen on James’s face before which was eerily familiar and broke his heart a bit. “Not really. I’ve already made my will and left everything to you and the little me. I’d imagined if I could still battle Voldemort as a grown-up I could save mini-me from all that instead.”

            “Do you think the prophecy would let you?” queried Remus.

            Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Anyway, if you’re going to Azkaban, can you make sure that we get the guards on our payroll? Fudge is as incompetent as I remember, but he likes money. I’m sure we could outbid him when it comes to donations and he already knows of me due to our dealings with the other departments. I just need to be on his good side until Voldemort gets his body back.”

            Remus sighed. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

            “The greater good and all that, is it, Remus? Or do you favour the road to hell is paved with good intentions?” queried Harry as he turned back to his papers. A thoughtful frown settled on his face and Remus leaned over to see the title of the project: it was for the new security firm contract they acquired.

            “I just worry about you,” sighed the younger man. Harry still found the age difference weird.

            “I know you do,” answered Harry with emotion as he looked up from the papers. His eyes held Remus’ steadily, and Remus felt warmed by the emotions he saw in them: love, acceptance, pride. Harry glanced at the wall clock on the far wall, near his built-in cabinets. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Diagon Alley in about twenty minutes to run interference with Hagrid and mini-me?”

            Remus looked startled, glanced at the clock and swore. “Oh _bugger_! I nearly forgot! Shit, thanks Harry!”

            Remus dashed out of Harry’s office, presumably to the secure Apparition point near the basement lock-down area. Bemused, Harry shook his head. He trusted Remus explicitly, and knew that the plan would fall into place easily enough. The werewolf was more than competent.

            Pressing a symbol on his Chatter mirror/phone, Harry called up his secretary, Edith’s squib daughter. “Emily?”

            “Yes Mr. Houdini, sir?” the plumb Welsh overtones of the Valley accent rolled over Harry, and he briefly wondered if he would have sounded Welsh instead of English had he remained living with his parents in Godric’s Hollow.

            “Can you see if you can get a hold of Yui, please? I need an update on her weaponry experiment for later this afternoon,” requested Harry, rubbing a temple.

            “Yes, Mr. Houdini, sir!” chirped Emily, and with a cheery smile she disconnected the Chatter call.

            Sometimes Harry wondered if Cloak & Dagger was worth everything he was doing; but then he thought back to those years stuck at the Dursleys, and then the heat of betrayal that Ginny revealed to him—and Harry felt his determination resume its roaring pulse. It was _totally_ worth it.

**

            Eleven-year-old Harry Potter was in complete and utter _shock_. He was a wizard! His parents had been magical! He was magical! He was going to a magical school! Hagrid made Dudley have a pig’s tail!

            Harry sighed in wonder as he tried to take in everything at Diagon Alley—the shops, the people, their manners and dress, everything about them. Hagrid was leading him to the bank, Gringott’s, which he said was run by goblins! Real, live _goblins_!

            They entered the white building, with Hagrid making a bee-line for the shortest line; there was another wizard ahead of them. He was tall, with salt-and-pepper sandy hair and strangely enough, wearing a business suit that Harry knew to be expensive; his uncle would’ve liked this man.

            When he concluded his business, he turned and blinked at Hagrid and Harry. First, he looked at Hagrid, and then at Harry, but not his scar. Harry found he liked the man for that, even if the scars on _his_ face were obvious and stretched.

            “Hagrid! What a surprise,” the man began, looking back at the larger Keeper of the Keys.

            “Why, Remus Lupin, I do say yeh look good!” boomed Hagrid, reaching and engulfing Remus into a bone-crushing hug. When released, the man looked scruffier and his suit was wrinkled, but he made no move to smooth them.

            “Thanks,” he answered wryly. “I have a good job.” He then looked down at Harry. “And this must be Harry. You look so much like James at eleven.”

            “James?” asked Harry, perking up.

            Remus nodded. “Your father. He and I were friends since our first year at Hogwarts. I can still remember the look on your fathers’ face when we were all at St. Mungo’s, when you finally decided to join us. He was so proud!”

            Harry yearned to know more. This man knew his father, and his mother! He was telling him things no one had ever told him! He looked like his dad!  
            “Hagrid, are you escorting Harry around Diagon Alley to get his supplies, then?” asked Remus patiently.

            Hagrid nodded, scratching at his chin under his beard. “Well,” he rumbled slowly, “I was doin’ it fer Dumbledore, yeh know…”

            “You probably have a few other things to do for him, I’m sure,” said Remus, cheerfully. “I was at Hogwarts earlier this morning so I know everyone is busy getting ready for the start of the school year.”

            “Yeh, I do have sumthin’ to do,” agreed Hagrid, looking down at Harry, who looked up at him earnestly.

            “Can I go with Mr. Lupin, Hagrid?” asked Harry. “He knew my parents. It would be great to learn more about them!”

            Hagrid seemed torn between his promise to Dumbledore, and his other duties; one that required a trip down to the vaults, and that always left him ill. He could use the time to nip into the Leaky…

            Settled, he nodded and handed Remus Harry’s vault key—missing the hardening of Remus’s eyes as he did so.

            “Yeh’ll tell him everythin’?” asked Hagrid quietly. _Everything_ , he was assuming, were the things that he needed to know about Hogwarts.

            Remus nodded. Hagrid grinned at Harry, said his goodbyes and that he would see him at Hogwarts, and left the young Boy-Who-Lived with Remus Lupin. It would be a mistake that Albus Dumbledore would rue to his very last.

            “So Harry,” began Remus casually. “Anything you want to know about Gringott’s before we look into your trust vault and properties?”

            “Trust vault?” repeated Harry, incredulous. “Properties?”

            “Well, yes,” answered Remus, faking surprise. Inwardly, he was seething. How the older Harry managed to keep a reign on his temper after learning all the manipulations in his early life had Remus admiring him even more. How could Harry have gone through life never knowing he was the last scion to an old, noble family? That he was noble in the non-magical world? That he had numerous safe houses and properties that the House Elves would use to take care of him? Safer than Privet Drive, at least!

            “Umm… I don’t understand, Mr. Lupin,” began Harry timidly, shrinking in on himself.

            Remus pursed his lips and Harry found it strange that this well-dressed man would be willing to take care of him, a _nobody_ , even if he was friends with his parents. Why hadn’t he been around earlier?

            “I see,” replied Remus in such a tone that he would have been shocked to know he sounded exactly like Lucius Malfoy. In a much kinder tone, he squatted next to Harry and asked, “Harry? Would you like to go get a lunch while I tell you about your father and your family? I think there is _much_ that we need to go over before you start Hogwarts.” His eyes flicked over Harry’s cousin’s hand-me-downs. “And we certainly need to not only get you your Hogwarts needs, but I think some non-magical items as well.”

            “Aunt Petunia would not like that,” said Harry cautiously.

            Remus grinned, stretching his scars on his face. “That’s alright Harry. You leave Petunia to me. She knows who I am. And it’s about time that we have a much overdue talk. Besides, you don’t need to return there. I can show you one of the Potter family estates where you’ll be taken care of before school begins. You’ll be safe and comfortable there.”

            “Really?” asked Harry, his eyes huge. Could it really be? Could his dream be coming true?

            Remus gently smiled. “Really.”

            Harry thought today was the _best_. _Day_. _EVER_!

**

            While most of the staff at Cloak & Dagger thought that Harry lived in the office and the building, the truth was that he had a rather nice house in Wales. And he did actually sleep there.

            The original seven employees also knew where Harry lived, but that was for emergency purposes. Otherwise, only Remus visited him socially. (And Harry realised that he would soon have to bring his original seven into the fold about his true identity if he wanted their most important plans to succeed, but he was still leery of having Remus and O’Donnell knowing his truth)

            Harry was in the process of making dinner when Remus popped in, grim but in rather good spirits. Remus wandered through the living space and into the kitchen, just as Harry asked, looking up from the pasta boiling, “How did it go with the mini-me?”

            “Fine. Better, much better, after we had lunch and I told him about his heritage,” answered Remus, going towards the counter and beginning to cut up the vegetables for their salad. “I still can’t believe that you were never told any of it!”

            Harry shrugged from the other end of the small kitchen. “It never came up and the Dursleys practically beat out the need to ask questions and my curiosity. It wasn’t important, even as I was older. When I did learn, after the war, it didn’t matter. The people who should have told me were already long dead.”

            Remus scowled but said nothing. The two were silent as one chopped, sliced, and added veg to their lettuce and salad. The other continued to stir the pasta and check on the oven’s chicken.

            “Where did you end up putting him?” asked Harry casually.

            “The Potter estate in Brecon, which is about fifty miles north of us now. I told the house elves not to let anyone but myself in now, but I imagine that if you went there they’d recognise your magical signature. Be totally fucked in the head with two of you, but they’d do as you would say, being Master Harry anyway,” explained Remus.

            Harry grinned as the over chime went off. “Good. Although I don’t plan on being anywhere near the little me. The universe would go boom.”

            “Unlikely. You’re much older and you’ve changed too much. You’re not the same person,” argued Remus.

            “Hermione Granger was the smartest person I _ever_ knew and if she said the universe would go boom, I’d believe her,” Harry said, pointing at the cabinets and for Remus to set the table. “Hell, if she and Luna teamed up and said Crumple-Horn Snorkracks existed, I’d donate a million galleons to their cause and tell the Minister to claim a National Snorkrack day.”

            Remus chuckled and finished setting the table. Harry served and they began to eat in a comfortable silence.

            “Az tomorrow, right?” asked Harry suddenly.

            Remus looked up from his pasta, and nodded. He began to push the penne around the plate. “Do you think it’s wise? I mean, I never went there before to see Sirius.”

            “He’s likely to not notice the amount of time passing, Remus,” argued back Harry gently. The kitchen lights reflected off his glasses. “He spends the majority of his time as Padfoot, and it wouldn’t be until the summer before my third year that he’ll notice Scabbers in the Daily Prophet.”

            “Can we assume that things are going to follow the same event timeline?”

            Harry frowned. “Possibly.” He sighed, setting his cutlery down and running his hands through his hair. “The thing is Remus, I don’t even know what’s going on half the time. The spell that Ginny mentioned, the one Dumbledore and Snape used, and hell, Molly—I’ve got Justine and Johnny off researching it with their teams and they can’t find _any_ mention of it in Charms, or Transfiguration or Potions texts. I’m worried that it was something Dumbledore created.”

            “What does that have to do with the timeline?” asked Remus, patiently.

            “Well, if the spell intended for me to go back in time and relive my life, relive the hell that the Second War was, then I wouldn’t be here like I am now. It would erase the future that I came from and transported me back into my younger body—at whatever age—with no memory of the future. Manipulated and used, yet again.

            “But something went wrong. I used Runes to minimise the effect that Ginny’s work would have on me, but I can’t say that I did the right thing. All I can guess is that the two spells reacted wrongly and sent me, yes, into the past—but also caused me to create an alternate universe from my point of existence here.”

            Remus nodded thoughtfully, tapping his mouth with the end of his fork. “That’s entirely possible, I suppose, but that still brings us back to you wanting to know the spell.”

            “To destroy it. I don’t want anyone to go through that again. Which is why I have Justine and Johnny looking for it,” answered Harry. “But since they can’t find anything, I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing them in anyway.”

            “Bringing them in, as telling them the truth?” here, Remus’s eyebrows went up. “O’Donnell knows, but since he never leaves his home, he was safe. Telling our ‘Seven Stars’, Harry—that’s a big risk.”

            “I’ll need to take it,” replied Harry sourly. “They’ve been with us almost a decade, Moony, and Yui’s already near-completed her crossover firearm. Her talent in robotics combined with magic is beyond genius and she’s not left despite several higher-paying offers. Camilla’s been a huge help in finding our new contacts and building strong ties to those non-magical companies. I know she’s been offered several positions within our friends, like Microsoft particularly, but she’s never left. Jonathan… that kid’s brilliant at tying his charms together. If it weren’t for his work, we’d never have found the right combination for the Chatter system. And Sebastian and Edith think they’re only a year away from testing out their improved Wolfsbane potion. If they finish that, we’ve the werewolves in our pocket without them even questioning Voldemort. And Piers… he’s going to be my biggest help. That man’s a shrewd sonovabitch. The work that he did for the South African government…” Harry shuddered. “He’s in charge of our security, you know, Remus—and that man is nearly as paranoid as myself and Moody combined.”

            “You’re fond of them,” noted Remus in realization, with a smile on her face.

            Harry smiled. “Yes, I suppose I am. And none have left, despite the opportunity to do so. I want… I feel like it’s my turn to reward them. It still falls under the company secrecy oaths, but… I’d feel better if they knew why I’m doing everything and for the reason I am doing it.”

            “It could backfire,” cautioned Remus, “if any of them decide you’re playing God.”

            “And it may all work out for the best. We’ll know after next week.”

            Remus’s look of surprise was almost comical. “You’re telling them that soon?”

            Harry nodded. “I need them on for our pinhole cameras. If we can’t get that up and running by 1994, we’re fucked.”

            Remus sighed. “Just be careful, okay?”

            Harry grinned. “Aren’t I always?”

**

            Remus hated Azkaban and he hated himself for believing for such a long time that Sirius did betray Lily and James. A part of him was wondering if even the Lestranges deserved to be in such an environment.

            The ferry docked at the imposing rock island, north of the Orkney islands. The ferryman, a toothless old man grinned at him gummily, and indicated for Remus to get off.

            Suppressing a shiver, Remus drew his trench coat tighter around his body to keep in his body heat and stepped off onto the dock, where a waiting guardsman stood. Looking down at his shoes, Remus wondered if he was entirely too dressed up for the event—meeting Sirius and getting some guards on the Cloak & Dagger payroll. After a near decade of working with Harry at C&D, and with the near entirety of their work coming from the non-magical community, Remus was feeling far too comfortable in leather shoes and trouser suits than the traditional robes his fellow magical users preferred.

            With a wry sigh, he mentally shrugged his shoulders and gave the guard a smile. “Highborne, is it?”

            “Welcome to Azkaban Prison, Mr. Lupin,” replied the guard, as he nodded his head. He was an older man, just over Harry’s current age, with a tough demeanour and scar-ridden face that made Remus’s scars look like child’s play.

            The man turned to walk into the large, black building. The conversation, although short and clipped, was carried across the grounds.

            “What brings you to Azkaban, Mr. Lupin?” Highborne asked.

            “I’m here to visit an old friend,” he said, wryly.

            “Sirius Black, then?”

            Remus cut a glance at the man. He and Harry had not indicated who they wanted to visit, and Highborne was out of Hogwarts by the time Remus and his friends went in. Curious.

            “Indeed. How did you know?” continued Remus cheerfully, as much as he could with the damp chill and the presence of Dementors.

            “The guardsmen try their hardest to keep up to date on certain events, Mr. Lupin,” revealed the guard. “Since you haven’t visited before and have no family here, we did some digging.”

            _Even more curious_ , thought Remus. “I see. How much time will I have with him?”

            “About five minutes. And you’ll have a guard standing with you the entire time,” answered Highborne.

            Remus looked much more carefully at the guard, noticing more than just the scars on his face. The man looked tired, and weary. Cloak & Dagger had done some digging on the guards working at Azkaban, and found that several were either widows or single men with no family. It was a lonely job, with shift changes every six months and the guards remained on site for that period. Highborne, however, was unusual because he had a wife and three small children – one due to start Hogwarts next year – and probably only saw them briefly.

            Not willing to start negotiations just yet, Remus waited until he was signed in at the log in the main reception room at Azkaban, and then followed Highborne to Sirius’ cell.

            Sirius Black was curled up into a tight ball at the foot of his bed, similar to his dog form. He was pretending to sleep—Remus knew that because he knew Sirius—otherwise he would’ve been in his dog form, according to Harry.

            The innocent prisoner lazily opened his eyes, faked a yawn, and drawled, “Highborne. How kind of you to visit me.”

            The wizard in question scowled and turned to Remus. “He’s all yours.”

            Sirius took notice of Remus for the first time, eyes widening and then looking his old friend from head to toe. “Moony…”

            “Hello Sirius,” greeted Remus amiably, as though they weren’t visiting each other in prison.

            “How long has it been?” asked Sirius shrewdly, as his eyes once again fell on the obvious Muggle wear.

            Remus inwardly smiled. Harry had been correct in assuming that the Dementors were kept at bay through the animagus transformation, and Sirius’ sanity was far more in tact than either had originally anticipated.

            “A while,” replied the werewolf.

            “So why’re you here?” asked Sirius wearily, lying back down and closing his eyes.

            “I think I should be curious that you’re not proclaiming your innocence to everyone who is around to hear it,” said Remus instead.

            Sirius sighed. “I did try that for the first year, apparently. Didn’t work. I stopped.”

            Remus nodded. “Never thought you were the type to give up, Padfoot.”

            Sirius stilled.

            Remus could almost see the wheels turning in his unused brain. If Remus believed him to be the traitor, why the pleasant conversation? The nicknames?

            Sirius sat up, keeping his eyes on his old friend and ignoring the guardsmen beside him. “Moony…?”

            “Padfoot?” answered Remus with a smirk.

            Sirius sat back. “Is he safe?”

            Remus sighed, a glance from the corner of his eye showing that Highborne, although affecting a disgruntled and unassuming attitude was keenly listening in. “Yes and no. He is now, but he wasn’t before.”

            Sirius nodded, accepting the answer.

            Remus continued. “You should know, Sirius, that I know you’re innocent.” Highborne scoffed, but both men ignored him. “I know, and so do others. We’re working on getting you out.”

            “It won’t happen. Fudge wants me kept here.”

            Remus’s mouth turned down. “He might. But he won’t also go against my employer.” Highborne, next to him, tapped his wrist, signalling their five minutes were up. “I’m going now, Sirius.”

            “It was nice seeing you, Remus,” replied Sirius lazily, sliding back down to lie on his bed. “Thanks for the visit.”

            Remus wasn’t sure what to say, so he nodded his goodbye, and left with Higborne. As the two were walking back to reception, Remus decided to broach the topic Harry had wanted him to do. “So, Highborne… how’s the family?”

**

            Jonathan Randall was unsure of why Harry had called an important meeting on the Friday before Bank Holiday. September was just around the corner, and most employees had already taken off early to enjoy the last long weekend of the summer.

            Since joining Cloak & Dagger, Jonathan had wanted for nothing. He moved his elderly, ailing grandmother to the UK when he came over for his position as Head of the Charms department, and since then used his pay checks to give his grandmother a good life for her final days.

            Jonathan himself enjoyed several vacations, nice cars and electronics to play with, and loved his work. The Chatter System was his design, his brainchild, and Harry loved it. He had received a large bonus for the completion of the project, and his name was almost exclusively attached to the product.

            He would never get that at any other company.

            Jonathan was, though, a loyal employee at Cloak & Dagger and over the years, grown to appreciate and call his coworkers “friends,” including his paranoid and mysterious boss, Harry Houdini. Often, the other six employees hired at the same time as Jonathan would get together for drinks and dinner and speculate on Harry, and who he was—especially after admitting Houdini was not his real name.

            In the end, it didn’t matter. Cloak & Dagger paid well, and bestowed excellent bonuses upon its employees and treated them well. Of the original seven, none were inclined to leave. Ever.

            This made Jonathan confused as to why Harry would call a meeting after 4pm on the Friday of a long weekend. He was an excellent boss, and was always conscientious of holidays and time off. He never called anyone in after hours or on weekends to complete products, and never lost his cool on an employee or house elf.

            Shrugging mentally, Jonathan met Yui as they left their offices, and together they walked toward the main boardroom.

            “Any idea what this is about?” he asked his coworker.

            Yui shrugged her shoulders, her long black hair shimming under the office lights. “No clue,” she replied. “I gave in my report on my product last week and he was pleased with it, so I doubt it’s to do with anything we’re doing.”

            “Strange,” answered Jonathan.

            They met up with Piers and Edith soon enough, and entered the same boardroom they were hired in, years ago. They took seats and pulled out their notepads. Sebastian, Camilla and Justine entered the room soon enough; Sebastian was the only one of the group who still used quills to write with, and set his inkpot out within easy reach.

            Remus entered next, and took his spot next to Harry’s seat.

            “Thanks for coming,” he said, first. Everyone turned their attention to him. “Harry will be here in a minute, but I wanted to say a few words first.”

            He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. Jonathan shared an uneasy look with Yui and Justine, as the youngest in the company at their level. Did they have competition? Had someone stolen their ideas? Was Cloak & Dagger bankrupt?

            Remus ran his hands through his hair, causing more unease to spread throughout the room. Remus Lupin never looked frazzled.

            Finally, the man looked up at the group. “Harry has called you in here to discuss something incredibly important to him. I know you’re uneasy—” here, he gave a wry smile. Everyone in the room knew he was a werewolf and could sense their emotions to a degree “—but my first note of importance is to say that this meeting has nothing to do with Cloak & Dagger. The company is fine, your jobs are still secure and we still don’t have to worry about competitors.”

            Jonathan was not the only one in the room who let out an audible sigh of relief.

            “What is this about then, Remus?” asked Camilla, frowning.

            Remus scratched his cheek. “It’s about Harry, his past, and what it means to the future of the company. What happened to Harry is what drove him to create Cloak & Dagger in the first place. Nearly every product you’ve ever made is directly related to his past and, well, his future.”

            Edith frowned. “Is Mr. Houdini ill, Mr. Lupin?”

            “No,” laughed Remus, “But he’d be pleased that you asked, Edith. No—Harry’s fine. It’s really his story to tell, and I hope that once you know it, you’ll understand why he’s done things this way. I know his past, and know him very well. I can’t say that even _I_ agreed with everything he’s done, but I can understand the purpose behind his reasoning. I just hope that you’ll listen to him with an open mind… and please,” finished Remus, as he stood to leave, “Please… remember that everything he’s telling you is the truth. Harry’s never once lied to any of you, from the beginning. Remember that.”

            Remus left the boardroom and the seven original employees frowned at his departure.

            There was some muttering between them, but finally the door opened again and Harry stepped in. Jonathan took the time to closely look at his boss.

            Harry no longer looked like a spry, young twenty-something out to conquer the world. When he first started the company, he had been a scrawny, tough twenty-seven year old with only a few wrinkles around his eyes, and a stern disposition. He always dressed nicely, from the start, but now Jonathan could see differences.

            At thirty-five, despite magical users aging slower than non-magicals, Harry looked his age. He looked good—distinguished, classic—but he looked like he was in his thirties. His hair was still cut stylishly, but Jonathan could see the beginnings of premature grey at his temples. His eyes were still the bright emerald, but there were more lines at the corners and fatigue bags under his eyes. His glasses, however, hid most of that.

            What struck Jonathan were the stress lines around his mouth, and his current wardrobe: nice shoes, but designer jeans and a much-loved argyle sweater vest and button-up underneath. Jonathan had never seen Harry in anything but power suits in his entire time at Cloak & Dagger.

            “Harry?” asked Justine, her voice pitching up at the end in concern. Clearly, everyone was just as distressed as Jonathan was, by what they were seeing.

            Harry smiled tightly at his employees, and sat heavily down in his chair at the end of the boardroom table. “Thanks for staying, everyone. I know most of you have plans and want to get home to family, but there is something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for some time now. I’ve been thinking about it for ages, and finally decided that now is the best time to tell you.

            “That being said, I want you to know that I’m not speaking to you at this moment as your boss,” he said, looking each of them in the eye and holding their surprised gaze for a few moments. “I want to speak to you as—hopefully—your friend.”

            _Oh boy,_ thought Jonathan, _this was going to be one of those earth-shattering talks, wasn’t it?_

            “I know for several years you’ve been wondering about me. You’ve always know that Houdini wasn’t my real last name, but you’ve never questioned me on it, or questioned me on our products, or need for secrecy. I think it’s beyond time that you learn who I am, and why I created Cloak & Dagger,” began Harry slowly, looking at his hands on the table top.

            “Harry…” began Edith slowly, in her Welsh accent, “Love, is everything alright? Are you… are you in danger? Ill?”

            Harry bestowed Edith with a beaming, loving smile. “Oh, Edith, thank you so much. But no, I’m not ill. And… while the answer to the first question is maybe… well… you’ll see in a moment.”

            Jonathan felt a tickle of sweat travel down his temple and into his shirt collar.

            “What’s the best way to begin? Well, the beginning is always good, so I’ll start firstly on the most important night of my life, when I found out that my wife and mother-in-law were involved in a conspiracy against me and my wife tried to, well, kill me I suppose,” began Harry slowly, captivating everyone in the boardroom.

            “But before we get into that, I think I’ll start with my name,” said Harry firmly, looking up from his hands. “My name is Harry James Potter, and when I was twenty-seven, I learned that I had been ingesting love potions since the age of fifteen by Molly and Ginny Weasley…”

**

            Camilla was standing beside the barrier of Platform 9 ¾ on September 1st, at ten-fifteen in the morning. She just said goodbye to her son, Hunter, who was starting his second year at Hogwarts in Ravenclaw. She was now waiting for Harry Potter, to guide him onto the platform without incidents.

            She and Hunter had been introduced to the famous Boy-Who-Lived the night before, at his estate in Brecon. Her boss and Remus Lupin, as a method for aiding Harry through into the magical world with ease instead of confusion, had engineered this.

            Hunter and Harry got on well enough, and her son promised that he would keep an eye on the boy without drawing suspicion on himself or Harry.

            Meanwhile, while Hunter was getting reacquainted with his friends, Camilla spent her time counting down to ten-thirty and reflecting back on her Friday meeting with her Cloak & Dagger boss, Harry “Houdini.”

            When looking back on the topic of the conversation, she realised that it was obvious that Harry Houdini was really Harry Potter—especially now that she had seen the younger version. Although much older and jaded, for good enough reason, Camilla could easily see the similarities between the two, while Jonathan easily saw the differences.

            Piers was the only one of the group who demanded a Wizard’s Oath from Harry that he had been telling the truth—which the man admitted he thought Piers would want and complied. As he didn’t lose his magic after the Oath, everyone was convinced. The question was how would they take and where would they go from there?

            For Camilla, it was a no-brainer. Cloak & Dagger appeared at just the right time to save her from starvation and possibly prostitution and gave her and her son a chance of having financial security and a position of power. Camilla would be forever grateful for Harry for the opportunity and didn’t plan to let him down now that she knew his past and history.

            To say she and the others were furious at what they discovered was an understatement. After Harry’s Oath, the wizard murmured his goodnights and left his star employees in the boardroom to retreat to his office. Camilla was sure he expected resignations on his desk by Monday morning.

            Instead, the seven employees decided to go out for dinner like they normally did, and ended up at Piers’s home in Scotland. For most of the evening, they vented, they ranted, they debated and argued, and consumed far too much alcohol to help ease the confusion and anger of Harry’s revelations.

            But in the twilight, they had all come to the same conclusions: whatever Harry was doing with his products, and how he was doing it, they were okay with it. Remus might warn them that the road Harry was on could be rocky and lead very quickly down a spiralled path to Hell, but Camilla understood. If it had been her, or God forbid, her son in Harry’s position…

            Knowing that Cloak & Dagger was racing against a ticking clock meant that everyone wanted to prove to Harry that they were capable of completing the projects he required to set the final stage. He couldn’t do it alone though, of that the seven were sure.

            As Camilla waited, she spotted a familiar figure winding their way through the crowd to the barrier where she stood. The figure was short, tiny, with a head of bushy hair, and protectively tucked between two parents. Camilla felt a smile tug at her lips. _Hermione Granger_ , she thought. _One of the names on Harry’s list_.

            Camilla’s smile turned into a frown as she considered the names. Most were unknown to her—but a few she knew. The ones she knew of—Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones, Remus Lupin—were either people she worked with or people she knew through contacts at the Ministry through Cloak & Dagger. They were prominent people, witches and wizards of distinction and Camilla’s frown deepened at the implication.

            Harry indicated that Ginny mentioned a greater plan that Dumbledore had in mind—which led the group to believe that if Dumbledore was willing to send a 60-year-old Harry Potter back in time after discovering the truth, while their world was at peace, then the man had some greater master plan than Harry could even figure out at the moment. Piers was on the case, for sure, and Justine, Jonathan and herself were going to do whatever they could to find the spell as well as research more on Horcruxes now. Yet, it didn’t change Camilla’s thoughts on the matter.

            The children Dumbledore’s plan affected ruined their lives, whether they knew it or not. They had no free will or power to go against the man. From Harry’s explanations, his best friend had lived a loveless marriage and lost her two closest supporters, her parents, in the aftermath of the war.

            Family was important. Camilla’s destroyed her after her brief relationship with a non-magical that resulted in her son; yet she found a new family that she cared far more for. Whether it was ties of blood, or ties of friendship, whatever pulled her boss’s, Harry’s, family together meant that they were important to the Cloak & Dagger employees too.

            Hermione’s parents looked harassed and frazzled, unsure if they should let their daughter go. Camilla understood that, very well.

            “—You need to go again?” asked Hermione’s father as they got close to Camilla.

            “Platform 9 and ¾,” replied Hermione steadily, her eyes shining brightly with excitement.

            Her mother frowned. “I’m not entirely sure where that is, and I don’t like the idea of you going off alone…”

            Camilla felt she should interfere. Besides, it was still five to ten-thirty; Remus was due to drop Harry off until then. And if he met Hermione first, then all the better. At least he’d have a friend.

            “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing. The train to Hogwarts is just through that stone barrier,” interrupted Camilla, pointing at the wall she had been standing against.

            “ _Through_ that barrier?” asked Hermione’s father, aghast.

            Camilla smiled gently. “I know it sounds strange, but that is the magical world for you,” she revealed. “While non-magicals can’t go through the barrier, I can direct you so that you know in the future where your daughter needs to go and how to get there easily enough.”

            “Are you a professor?” asked Hermione, eagerly.

            “No,” answered Camilla, shaking her head. “I’m waiting for a friend to drop a new student off. My son’s already onboard the Hogwarts Express. He was more eager to greet his friends than say goodbye to his mum.”

            Hermione’s parents smiled at this, and Hermione nodded. Camilla decided to press her luck. “Would you like to wait until my friend drops his ward by, so that you have someone to sit with on the train?”

            Hermione’s expression was like a lightbulb being turned on—her entire face lit up with the prospect of meeting someone new, and making a friend—but then just as quickly, her face fell.

            “No one really likes me that much,” she mumbled, inching closer to her parents, who shared a concerned look between them.

            Camilla’s heart went out to the girl. Harry had told them everything—his entire story and what he knew of his friends’ past—and Camilla knew that Hermione had difficultly making friends because of her insecurities and need to be pathologically correct. The new mini-Harry would break her of that soon enough, Camilla was sure, but maybe the girl needed a push?

            “Pfft, don’t say that,” dismissed Camilla. “Harry’s non-magically raised and doesn’t know anyone either. He’s been reading his books since he received them at Diagon Alley, and I’m sure he’d love to talk to someone else about them.”

            Hermione gave a hesitant smile, and Camilla’s attention was turned to the arrival of Remus and little Harry.

            Remus approached the group, glancing questioningly at the Grangers, and turned to Camilla with a raised eyebrow. She smiled instead, and then greeted the little Harry.

            “Hello Harry,” she said, extending her hand. The boy shook it, his own emerald eyes bright and alert. “Ready for Hogwarts?”

            “Oh yeah,” he grinned. “I’ve read all my books twice, and even read _Hogwarts: A History_. Remus suggested it.”

            A squeak of surprise escaped Hermione’s mouth and everyone turned to look at her. “You’ve read _Hogwarts: A History_?”

            “Yeah, it was great,” answered Harry.

            “What did you think of chapter thirty-four, on the moving staircases and hidden doors…?”

            “Worried! What about the room that only shows up every third Tuesday on Lunar eclipses?”

            The two new Hogwarts students began chattering away, leaving the adults sighing gratefully for different reasons. Camilla finally introduced Remus to the Grangers, and then suggested she take Hermione and Harry onto the Platform so they could find a seat—and soon. The Weasleys would be arriving in moments and she wanted to avoid them as long as possible.

            Remus and Harry said their goodbyes, just as Hermione did with her parents.

            Remus watched as Camilla led the two young friends onto the Platform, talking over each other constantly and so involved in their discussion they didn’t notice the stone barrier they walked through.

            Mrs. Granger sighed beside Remus.

            “Worried?” he asked her.

            “It’ll be Christmas when we see her again,” she revealed. “She’ll have changed so much. And we won’t get to see it.”

            Remus nodded. “It is an issue, and I too feel that with Harry. His parents and I were great friends but with their deaths awhile back I didn’t get a chance to see Harry much.”

            “How come?” asked Mr. Granger.

            “He was moved to a foster family that I had no knowledge of. It was only recently that we met again,” revealed Remus, careful to give an abridged version. “I’ve already missed so much of his childhood that it’s hard to realise I’ll miss even more now.”

            Both Grangers nodded sagely, but Mrs. Granger continued: “Owl Post is very confusing. Do you know anything about it?”

            Remus nodded. “I was raised a Pureblood, so I can give you more information about the magical world, if you’d like. Since leaving Hogwarts, though, I’ve been working predominantly in the non-magical world, if you haven’t noticed yet.” He laughed and motioned at his suit and tie ensemble.

            The Grangers smiled and Mr. Granger indicated that he would be inclined to learn more.

            Remus smiled. Contact! “In that case, let me hand you my business card. Feel free to ring me at the office at any time. I’d be more than happy to answer your questions, or meet up with you for further discussions.”

            “Thank you,” replied Mr. Granger, taking the business card. Remus nodded his goodbye, and disapparated on the spot. Within seconds, a large family of redheads appeared around the corner, chatting loudly about “Platform 9 and ¾,” “Muggles,” and “being crowded.”

            The Grangers left, ready to head back to their quiet home. Mrs. Granger finally looked at the card her husband gave her as he slid into the driver’s seat of their car, and read the stylish script on the thick, cream card.

            “ _Remus J. Lupin, Vice President, Cloak & Dagger Inc._” On the back were a telephone number and fax, as well as a slogan: _It’s elementary, my dear_.

            Mrs. Granger felt her lips twist into a smile. Perhaps she and her husband should set up a dinner meeting with Mr. Lupin? Their meeting and discussion might prove to be educational…

**

            Hermione’s name was called and Harry let go of her hand, after giving it a squeeze and wishing her, “good luck!”

            He stood by himself, with an empty space where Hermione stood and a tall, skinny boy with blue eyes and very dark brown hair. He remained silent, never speaking to Harry or anyone else, so Harry wasn’t too concerned with him.

            Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on Hermione’s head. After a minute or two, the hat shouted its decision: “GRYFFINDOR!”

            Harry clapped along with the house, glad Hermione got into the house she wanted. A few other names were called: Jones, Longbottom, Malfoy, Moon, Nott… then Parkinson, and Patil, and finally Potter…

            Harry blocked out the mutters and calls from the other students. A month alone with a bunch of house elves for company, a large family library at the Potter estate, and frequent visits from his parents’ friend, Remus Lupin, prepared Harry for life at Hogwarts. He knew he was famous, even if he disliked it. He knew that people would expect things from him, and he disliked that even more.

            But that didn’t matter. He was about to be sorted!

            _“Hmmm, a great mind, if not a little lazy at times. Oh, what’s this?_ ” the hat murmured here or there, poking and prodding at Harry’s psyche and dreams and desires, and finally made a decision after a spooky talk about how Harry could be great.

            “Are you sure? You could be great you know, it’s all their in your head and Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness,” the Hat stated.

            “No,” replied Harry mentally, firmly.

            “Very well. Better be,” the Hat announced its decision: “GRYFFINDOR!”

            The red-and-gold table clapped and banged their goblets, and Hermione inched over so there was a spot free between her and Neville Longbottom.

            Harry grinned, and thought: _this is going to be fantastic!_

**

TBC...


	3. Part Three

Greater Than, Lesser Be

Kneazle

**

PART THREE

**

 **Jason Nesmith** : Never give up. Never surrender.

 _Galaxy Quest_ , 1999

**

**December, 1991**

 

            Remus was with Harry, Camille, Jonathan and Justine when he received the letter from Fawkes. The magnificent phoenix burst into flames in the main boardroom at Cloak & Dagger, startling nearly everyone.

            Fawkes cooed a melodious tune, presenting Remus the letter in his talon for taking. Everyone in the room stopped talking, looking warily at the bird. Finally, Remus took the offered note and read it, his eyebrows popping up in surprise at one point.

            “What’s it say?” asked Harry in a rather bored tone. He knew most of Dumbledore’s tricks, anyway.

            “Wants to know what I said to your little self in Diagon Alley. Seems he finally checked in,” muttered Remus, folding the note and nodding at Fawkes. The phoenix disappeared in a burst of flame. “Essentially, Harry’s gone for the holidays and Dumbledore’s wondering why.”

            “So he’s finally noticed that Harry’s not what Dumbledore thought he’d be?” asked Justine, confirming.

            Harry nodded. “I was left with the Dursleys for a reason, Justine. He wanted someone to look up to ‘the Great Albus Dumbledore’ because he was saved from his horrible relatives.”

            Justine made a face, turning back to her notes in her spiral-ring binder. Jonathan and Camille did the same, as Harry waved Remus off. “Handle it how you will, Remus,” the boss of Cloak & Dagger instructed, not even glancing up from his own files. His tone, however, did not leave much room for leeway as he continued. “Just deal with Dumbledore.”

            Remus nodded, although Harry did not see, and left the boardroom. Remus took a leisurely stroll through the Cloak & Dagger building. The boardrooms all had magnificent views of the Channel, and the hallways were decorated with tasteful art deco reprints.

            Cloak & Dagger’s headquarters in Dorset was only about four storeys tall, with two magically pulled and designed elevators and a very nice main staircase located in the ground floor lobby to the first floor’s junior development teams.

            The basement, however, was where Harry spent his time. Having been denied a childhood growing up, Harry had renamed specific locations within the company based off childhood TV shows, comics and movies. The basement, where Remus knew the secure Apparition point was, was called the “X-Wing,” after the X-Men’s secret underground lair where Cerebro was located.

            Along the way was “the Bat Wing,” which led to the experimental laboratory and weapons storage. The Bat Wing connected to the gymnasium and training centre which Piers ran, affectionately named “the G.I. Joe’s.”

Remus knew Harry did this on one hand to amuse himself but on the other hand, had everyone in the company calling the departments and rooms by those names to confuse anyone who might enter Cloak & Dagger unauthorised. Unless they had knowledge of the non-magical world’s comic books and TV shows, it would be unlikely they’d ever realise the Bat Wing was where weaponry would be located, or that top-secret plans for their next developmental project could be found in the House of M.

            Remus shook his head as he continued down the darkened hallway in the X-Wing, heading towards Arkham, the secure Apparition point as well as holding cells for unwanted guests.

            Two security guards that Piers had trained were affectionately known as the Joe’s. Two house elves were also standing guard by the Apparition room. There was 24-hour surveillance and guard shift changes every six hours to relieve them.

            “Mr. Lupin,” one said, politely as he stood. “Would you mind?”

            Remus smiled and spread his arms as the two guards inspected him, waving their wand over and under his arms, similar to a metal-swipe at the airport.

            It was routine and completed quickly after several swipes of the wand here or there. Finally, the Joe waved Remus through the doorway to the Apparition point. Remus spun on his heel and with a loud _pop_ was gone.

            He appeared in Hogsmeade, between two buildings in an alley. He didn’t want to signal his arrival just yet; he had to think things through quickly as he began a leisurely stroll down towards Hogwarts’ main gates.

            With his hands in his trouser pockets, drawing stares from the local witches and wizards as he passed for his very mundane business suit, Remus ran over several options in his mind. Without giving away Cloak & Dagger’s main plans, Remus had to find a way to convince Dumbledore to leave the younger Harry alone.

As the last scion of a noble, Pureblood family, the young Harry Potter would be given certain leeway and exempts from current Wizengamot laws. Dumbledore may be a crafty politician with friends in high places – but his support was waning. The Harry that travelled through time knew that within the next three years, Fudge would not be calling on Dumbledore for help or counsel; that his position within the Wizengamot was already unstable due to his pressing of other, “pro-Muggle” laws; his age worked against him, with his strongest supporters already in their late ages and slowly dying off; the esteem of ‘defeating’ Grindlewald was slowly fading as the story of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ took over the press and stories and fairy tales.

Well played, and Remus could walk away with Dumbledore in a vice. One wrong word or sentence, and Remus could give Dumbledore the right information to find and bring down Cloak & Dagger in its entirety. It would be difficult, given that the company was well known and had a large revenue and interest in the non-magical world, but… it could be done.

With a sigh, Remus ran a hand through his hair, eyeing the large iron gates of Hogwarts. There was once a time where this felt like home, a safe haven from the prejudice and dangers of the real world. A place where he could act his age with his best friends and know he wouldn’t maim or harm an innocent human being.

Settling his face into a hard, solid mask, Remus straightened his shoulders, threw them back a bit and added a confident swagger to his steps as he pushed through the gates.

Hogwarts wasn’t home anymore.

**

            Dumbledore was waiting for him, twinkle absent in his eyes.

            They made small talk as they walked through the hallways, Dumbledore constantly reminding Remus of pranks he used to pull with the Marauders when they were younger, carefree, and students of the establishment. Each sentence, each word was like a physical blow to the werewolf; yet he recognised it as a tactic for Dumbledore to make him feel either nostalgic or guilty for going behind Dumbledore’s back with the Harry Potter business.

            It didn’t work.

            Inside the Heads’ office, Dumbledore offered tea and biscuits. Remus preferred coffee, but accepted the tea as a show – he didn’t drink it through.

            After some more banal small talk, Dumbledore opened the floor. “When did you meet Harry, Remus?”

            Remus brushed imaginary lint off his suit, a casual and studied move to make it appear as if the conversation was boring and trite. “In Diagon Alley, when Hagrid took him to the bank.”

            Something flashed past Dumbledore’s eyes – too quick to read – but the man recovered. “I see. Do you know where young Harry is now? I know he is not at Privet Drive with his aunt and that is the safest place for him.”

            “From what?”

            “I beg your pardon?” spluttered Dumbledore, coughing as his sip of tea was disrupted.

            Remus nodded in acceptance of the splutter. “I asked what Harry was safe from that he needed to be in an abusive home.”

            Dumbledore paused; a frosty glint entered his eyes and the conversation turned. “Harry is safest at his aunt’s house through a blood protection they share. When Lily sacrificed herself, a blood bond was created. Petunia shares Lily’s blood, the blood that flows through Harry’s veins as well. The blood wards around Privet Drive shield Harry from outside harm.”

            “And what about internal harm, Dumbledore?” asked Remus calmly, despite his rising anger at the conversation. “What about the abuse he suffered at his aunt and uncle’s hands? The bullying by his cousin?”

            Dumbledore’s stony silence had Remus continuing.

            “You must know; you had old Mrs. Figg down the street watching him. The time when his uncle’s sister came by the house and set her bulldog on Harry, biting him and chasing him up a tree? Or the games his cousin played with him—what’s it called? Oh, yes, _Harry Hunting_ ,” sneered Remus. He was doing well now, his voice rising with each accusation of abuse and Dumbledore’s lack of knowledge. “Or when his aunt swung a frying pan at Harry’s head and gave him a concussion and they took him to the hospital? Or the other time his uncle beat him black and blue for growing his hair back after his aunt cut it all off, breaking his arm? Or how about Harry’s Hogwarts letter, addressed to _the cupboard under the stairs_?!”

            Dumbledore swallowed; the portraits lining the walls were silent in shock or contemplation. Silence rang through the room at Remus’s last accusation, a shout, delivered in a punctual manner that belayed the anger in the statement.

            Finally, Dumbledore replied.

            “It was the safest place for him from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

            “So you knew,” replied Remus flatly, eyeing the elderly wizard.

            The defeater of Grindlewald wasn’t a green, young man—he knew admitting anything would make him culpable. Instead, he sat silently.

            The two stared at each other over the cluttered desk. Remus knew Dumbledore couldn’t use Legilimency on him; werewolves had a natural barrier, but there could still be things read in Remus’s face. Loosening his muscles and relaxing as best he could into the seat, Remus adopted a bored look that Sirius perfected when they were in school.

            “Dumbledore, you will remain nothing more than a Headmaster of a school that Harry attends. You have no control over him, no say in his classes or in his residencies. He knows his rights and his laws—those who take care of him are aware of this as well and guardianship papers were filed and accepted back in August.”

            A twitch appeared under Dumbledore’s left eye briefly.

            Remus continued. “When Harry returns in January, you will not seek him out. If you do, his Head of House will be with him in the room, as well as his guardians. Provisions have been made for him to be removed from Hogwarts if his guardians feel it is necessary. Do you understand?”

            The twitch under the eye turned into a tick, but Dumbledore, oozing politeness and sugarcoated words, replied, “Of course, Remus. I will endeavour to follow your requests.”

            Remus eyed the man across from him before nodding and standing, leaving his tea cold in front of him. “Pleasure, Headmaster. Merry Christmas.”

            Remus turned on his heel and strode from the office, down the revolving staircase and through the many passages and halls of his once home, mentally saying goodbye. Although he had chosen his path years ago when Harry appeared at his home, time-travelling and idealistic and betrayed, Remus still felt a gaping wound in his heart as he formally cut ties to Albus Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix and Hogwarts.

            He crossed the snow-covered grounds and was out of the gates, which slammed shut and locked behind him, echoing their Headmaster’s anger in a minor temper tantrum of symbolism. There, he sighed, slipping the poker face he wore to a stressed, tense and worried face he wore internally. After several deep breaths, he shook his shoulders and torso, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a flat, rectangular item, no larger than the palm of his hand and tapped his wand to it.

            A high-pitched beep made him wince, sensitive to the noise. Another tap was a playback feature.

 _“I see. Do you know where young Harry is now? I know he is not at Privet Drive with his aunt and that is the safest place for him.”_ The tinny voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed back from the device, another Cloak  & Dagger crossbreed invention – a magical tape recorder, without the hassle of a tape. A portable pensieve without images (one with images was in the works).

            Remus tapped the device again, turning it off and placed it securely in his pockets. He would bring it back to Cloak & Dagger, archive it and let Harry know about the conversation. Then, he would go to the Potter ancestral manor in Brecon and celebrate Christmas with the young Harry. He had several years’ worth to make up.

**

**Cloak & Dagger: Summer, 1993.**

 

            Harry wasn’t sure what kept Dumbledore from bothering his younger self, but whatever nerves Remus hit that day in Dumbledore’s office had the old man backing off the younger Harry. Harry was sure that Dumbledore didn’t know Remus had a recorder on him, for use of blackmail purposes later down the road, but Harry also didn’t want to take any chances.

            Charity Burbage, at Hogwarts, was told to keep a close eye on Harry as subtly as she could and report back if Dumbledore requested to see Harry in his office, spoke to him through McGonagall, or anything else Charity through strange. She was instructed to keep Harry from the third-floor corridor at _any cost_.

            It didn’t come down to that; instead, Quirrell went for the Philosopher’s Stone. His impatience towards his host and his ineptitude kept him from retrieving the stone until Dumbledore arrived, duelled and killed the possessed man.

            The stone was safe, but more importantly, Harry was not forced into retrieving it and playing the hero so early on in his life.

            Placing Remus in Diagon Alley, at Flourish and Blott’s at the same time as the Weasleys and Malfoys stopped Lucius from slipping Ginny Weasley the diary Horcrux. Although Harry wouldn’t mind seeing his ex-wife dead, the little Ginny Weasley was not his wife yet and was not the manipulative bitch she would grow into.

            The Horcrux was stored in a high-security vault in Arkham and left there until an opportunity arose for another; the Gaunt house was schedule for a visit in early June of 1995; Remus had already procured the Diadem on his first Hogwarts visit when he was still on good terms with Dumbledore back in the summer of 1991.

            The Cup in the Lestrange vault would also need planning, and had a scheduled pick up of the summer of 1994; Grimmauld Place and the locket would be whenever Sirius decided to make his escape and Remus and Camilla could track him down.

            The piece in Harry would take the most research and time to work on, but they were getting close.

            Thankfully, between when Remus spoke to Dumbledore and the end of Harry’s second year, there were no near-death experiences or basilisks for Harry to fight. Harry made Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team; he, Neville and Hermione became good friends and branched out to other houses, starting study groups. Dumbledore remained away from Harry and kept his plans to himself.

            It was quiet and serene for Harry Potter.

At Cloak & Dagger, however, it was another story as Harry Potter “Houdini” began the plans required for his finale.

            With no leads on the spell that sent Harry into the past, Harry had his employees continue working on their projects. They were slowly coming up to their deadlines and several loose ends were still causing difficulty and headaches.

            Harry had Yui and Piers working together with the GI Joe’s, down in the gym and weapons lab. Edith and Sebastian were working on leaflets and marketing for test subjects for their enhanced Wolfsbane potion—none were willing to risk Remus, but they would pay well for others to help them. It was a risk, but if they covered the legalities, Harry was satisfied. There was, unfortunately, only one way to test improved potions…

            Camilla was attached to help with Piers and Yui, but only sometimes; her job was to find things that everyone else needed, and acted as the go-between for Cloak & Dagger. Almost as well known as Remus, the two of them would manage contracts and meetings for Harry, including the upcoming one with the foreign ministries of France and Latvia, along with the British Department of Magical Games and Sports.

            Jonathan and Justine, however, had their own tricky project nearing completion and their deadline, working on adaptations of their recorder and pensieves.

Everything was coming to head, and within the next year, Harry had to ensure that everything was in place and that everything was in working order. It was a matter of life and deaths—but whose, Harry wasn’t sure.

**

            Harry, Jonathan, Justine, Remus and Piers stood on the catwalk-viewing platform above the large gymnasium where Piers trained Cloak & Dagger’s security. While some were trained in basic security duties, the rest were highly intelligent, highly deadly armed guards.

            These men and women had to be in their peak position by summer 1995; Piers had them training with their wands, but also training under specific conditions. Currently, the gym was converted into a scenario run. The GI Joe’s were going over a battle strategy—different from their previous one—and using the technology Jonathan and Justine were trying to integrate.

            Those on the platform were tense. It was the first trial run of the communicators Justine and Jonathan spelled, and they were nervous that they didn’t have everything down right. Harry was okay with that, but he needed some type of results. Working with technology around magic was always challenging, getting the right frequencies and conversions, but it was also the first time the Joe’s were using the communicators.

            The GI Joe’s were in position below. All wore black uniforms, none wore robes. Their outfits were similar to Harry’s original Hit Gear as a paid assassin; Kevlar and Dragonhide vests, Dragonhide boots and gloves and standard utility belts. Yui’s creation of a hybrid firearm that used magically loaded bullets was standard issue for the Joe’s. They knew how to use their wands in magical duels, and they knew how to disarm their opponents without wands.

            Tying it all together for a scenario test run using the communicators would add another level of sophistication to their unit and make them a near unstoppable force. It had to work.

            Piers gave the signal, a flash of sparks with his wand, and below the Joe’s fell into formation.

            The scenario was one they were intimately familiar with, if unsure about why they had to practice it continuously. They would Apparate into a graveyard at noon, set up base and wait until dark, after a large cauldron would be set up. They would not attack until given the order.

            They had two missions in one: rescue the boy (and hopefully not _boys_ , plural), get him to safety at Cloak & Dagger, and take out the Death Eaters. Distract the Death Eaters from Voldemort.

            The Joe’s didn’t ask why they were fighting Death Eaters, especially as they were long gone since Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord—but they knew better than to question their boss.

            A house elf agreed to play Harry Potter, tied to Tom Riddle Senior’s tombstone. A large cauldron was set up where Harry remembered from his memories; one of the Joe’s played Peter Pettigrew, while others played the Death Eaters. There were ten in total; the rest of the Joe’s were the attack squad.

            They would not add Voldemort in to their scenario; not yet—Harry wanted to leave him to last, once the Joe’s were used to the Death Eaters and the terrain. Piers gave the order for those playing Death Eaters to use the same tactics that Death Eaters would use in real life; they had experienced Healers on hand.

            The scenario began. Justine and Jonathan monitored their frequencies from above, watching how the Joe’s would use their communicators. They all wore tiny ear buds with attached mouthpieces that wired down near their mouths. Television hosts and dancers would use similar technology in the early twenty-first century. 

            The Joe leader, Quentin Smith, began murmuring into his piece. “Hostage is in sight, unarmed and possibly injured. There are ten targets, spread out in half-circle formations. This is a rescue and disarm. Repeat: rescue and disarm.”

            There was some crackle and Justine made a note on her notepad. Harry kept his eyes on the Joe’s.

            The group of Joe’s moved silently from behind tombstones, creeping closer to where the ‘Death Eaters’ were standing. The house elf as Harry Potter was instructed to act as Harry actually did during the capture in his fourth year; the elf was supposedly listening to Voldemort rant about his followers and naming the Death Eaters.

            Once Voldemort would give Harry his wand back, the Joe’s were to strike.

            It went well—at first. Quentin had his team attack as the house elf freed itself from the tombstone, mimicking Voldemort giving Harry his wand; but then it went pear-shaped.

            “Team B, proceed with rescue. Disapparate hostage to a safe location,” instructed Quentin quietly. “Team A, pick your targets.”

            Team B crept close to where Harry/the elf were standing, listening to Voldemort mock him about knowing how to duel—then, one Joe leapt forward to grab the boy and have Team B and Team A as cover.

            The Death Eaters reacted, throwing spells at the visible Joe’s. Sparkles and streaks of light lit up the fake graveyard, illuminating the Joe’s faces and the white masks of the Death Eaters.

            “Mulley! Take out McNair—he’s the one to watch on your left! Robbins, Malfoy’s coming up at three o’clock! Law, just what are you playing at?? Goyle’s at your left! Hit him with a Stun— _ack_!”

            Quentin cut himself off as the crackle of static overwhelmed his communication earpiece, crippling him and sending him to the ground. The man wretched his earpiece off and out, just like the rest of the Joe’s as they clamped down on their ears and writhed in pain.

            Piers didn’t call the fight over; those pretending to be Death Eaters in the exercise continued as planned and stunned the Joe’s. There was no point wounding them at this point.

The house elf was secured and Harry Potter would’ve been tortured to death. The devices failed and the scenario ended.

Piers sent his wand up, creating an echoing boom, signalling the end of the practice. Healers rushed onto the gymnasium floor, moving towards the downed Joe’s, some of who were bleeding out their ears.

Harry’s mouth was set at a straight line, knuckles tight on the platform rail. Jonathan and Justine shared a look, and Jonathan winced. They hadn’t had a setback like this in _years_.

Piers scowled as he surveyed his men. With a growl, he turned to Harry and began speaking, his voice so heavily accented in annoyance it was hard to understand. “We’ll be working twice as hard, boss. Promise.”

“Of course,” agreed Harry, calmly and softly. “As you wish, Piers.”

The South African man turned on his heels and marched off the platform and through a glass door, heading down towards the gym floor and the Healer’s rooms to see his Joe’s.

Jonathan and Justine, however, remained on the platform with Harry. They kept looking at their notes, and muttering about what they could do.

“It was the magical interference,” sighed Justine, casting an eye over the graveyard. “It’s easy to change the electrons into a magical equivalent, but using something so tiny as the communicators mean that each has to compensate for the amount of magic used around it.”

“And when you’ve got different levels of wizards out there with different magical outputs, it makes them go squirrelly,” agreed Jonathan, frowning.

“Whatever it is,” said Harry coolly, glancing at them, “Figure out a way to fix it. Two months. We need this up ad running and perfected for combat by next summer.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jonathan and Justine, recognising their boss and not their friend in the command. After all, it could very well be the fate of magical Britain resting on their work.

**

**Harry’s house. July 31, 1993.**

 

            Camilla and her son, along with Remus and a few of the other higher-ranking members of Cloak & Dagger decorated Harry’s house for the little Harry’s birthday party. Harry was rather reluctant to host the party, but given that Remus twisted Harry’s arm by stating that they couldn’t host it at Potter Manor, due to the privacy enchantments on the building, they needed another secure location. Moreover, Harry Houdini’s was just the place.

            Harry was sure the universe would go boom—and Hermione was going to be there to tell him about it as well, as she and Neville, as well as a few other Hogwarts friends, were invited.

            Remus speculated that Harry was different enough from the little Harry that it wouldn’t make a difference, but Harry wasn’t going to take the chance and was planning on staying as far away from the younger version of himself for as long as possible.

            It did make things difficult, as technically, Cloak & Dagger were Harry’s guardians. While Sirius Black remained Harry’s magical guardian, a feat of magic Dumbledore couldn’t even overthrow, the Dursleys happily signed their nephew over to the first person who came across them; in this case, it was Remus and Cloak & Dagger’s solicitor.

            While Remus couldn’t have guardianship over Harry, due to lycanthropy, a major corporation _could_ , with Remus being the acting _in loco parentis_ for the company as their VP. And considering how well known and well-liked and established Cloak  & Dagger were in the _non-magical_ world, where they bought most of their stock and conducted side-projects for various companies, the MPs and even the Prime Minister wouldn’t disagree.

            And they didn’t. Remus Lupin was Harry’s guardian in all but paper but the company ran with it; Harry enjoyed his Uncle Moony’s company and the two had grown close. While Harry knew a great many things that the older, time-travelling Harry never got a chance to learn, it didn’t sour the older’s relationship with Remus.

            So here Harry Houdini was: helping to blow up balloons with Mr. Granger while the rest of his employees entertained thirteen-year-olds.

            “What’s it like running a major multi-million pound corporation?” asked Mr. Granger.

            Harry paused and thought for a moment, holding tightly onto the lips of the balloon. “Exhausting, actually.” Harry then eyed the man and asked, “What’s it like being a dental surgeon?”

            Mr. Granger flashed Harry a perfect set of pearly whites. “Haven’t you heard? It’s just practice for when Hermione brings home her first boyfriend.”

            Harry shuddered.

            “It was very generous of you to let Harry and Remus use your home for his birthday party,” continued Mr. Granger, on a new topic. “Most bosses wouldn’t think of it at all. They wouldn’t offer.”

            “Remus was a good friend of Harry’s parents, and I trust him with my life. It’s the least I could do,” answered Harry. “I suppose I also feel compelled to help Harry—I lived a similar home life, only I never got to escape it until I was seventeen.”

            Mr. Granger frowned. “Yes,” he hummed. “Portia and I aren’t very happy with having Hermione at Hogwarts with Dumbledore in charge, if he left Harry the way he did.”

            “He has his reasons, I’m sure. I just wouldn’t trust him,” answered Harry evenly. The two continued with talk of Hogwarts, how Harry Houdini never attended but knew different kinds of magic from his travels around the world; this interested Mr. Granger and soon they were discussing Egypt and the Middle East when Remus found them.

            “We’re cutting the cake,” he said, “Did you want to join…?”

            The question was addressed to Harry, but Mr. Granger already confirmed his answer and moved towards the modern kitchen. Harry frowned, and then shrugged. “I might as well see if the world goes _boom_ now rather than later.”

            Harry followed Remus, tugging at his Argyle sweater vest nervously. Just because his closest friends knew of his existence and past life as Harry Potter didn’t mean a thirteen-year-old boy— _who_ , Harry thought frankly, _wasn’t very smart_ —would notice his identity.

 _God,_ thought Harry, sourly, _I sound like Batman. Justice League, here I come!_

            “ _Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you—Happy birthday, dear Harry, happy birthday to you_!” sang the people in the room as Harry entered the brightly lit and decorated kitchen.

            Around the dining table were those Harry Houdini worked with: Camilla, her son Hunter, Remus, Jonathan, Piers, Justine, Yui and Edith; across from those adults were Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Hermione, Neville and his grandmother, Susan Bones and her aunt Amelia; near Harry was standing on either side of Nathaniel Moon and Terry Boot.

            Harry did his best to hide behind the crowd of people in the small room; he didn’t want to make himself too obvious and disrupt things more than his existence in the universe already caused. He was, however, pleased to see Harry Potter look well.

            _Incredibly well_.

            When he was thirteen, he was scrawny and already beginning to blackmail Vernon to sign his permission slip into Hogsmeade. After blowing up Marge, Harry had the best summer ever, gaining several stone in weight and shooting up in height. He never managed his true height, due to the Dursleys, but it seemed that this Harry Potter might achieve it.

            The boy was well fed and dressed nicely; his skin glowed with happiness and health; old wounds and nutrition issues were addressed at Potter Manor, and Quidditch helped the boy gain a healthy balance. And most importantly, he was _happy_.

            Harry couldn’t remember a time when he was that happy, or at least, unquestionably happy. There was always some type of struggle or fear in his life, someone trying to kill him or hurt his friends. This Harry, from this universe, didn’t have to worry about it. If the time travelling Harry had this way, then the kid would never have to, either.

            Harry blew the candles out of his cake and everyone cheered. The boy’s eyes lit up as he looked at the people around the room, pleased and satisfied with hit lot in life. Finally, Harry’s eyes settled on another pair of emerald, hidden behind fashionable frames.

            “Mr. Houdini,” said Harry, as everyone quieted down to hear him. Harry swallowed heavily and moved so Harry could see him, thinking, _please, universe, don’t go boom. Don’t go boom._

            “Yes, Mr. Potter?” replied the time traveller.

            “Thank you very much for letting us have my birthday party here,” said Harry, smiling crookedly.

            Harry smiled back, ignoring the bizarre looks his employees were giving him and Harry, their heads swivelling back and forth between the two. “Of course, Mr. Potter. It was nothing.”

            Harry Potter smiled and turned to Neville, who excited said something to Harry, pulling the Hogwarts students into a conversation.

            Remus drew Harry away.

            “Are you out of your mind?” he hissed the moment they were in the hallway.

            Harry was perplexed. “What do you mean?”

            Remus reached up and clutched some strands of hair on his head. “You smile the _exact. Same. Way_!”

            Harry frowned. “Oh.”

            He hadn’t really thought about the way his _smile_ looked, being similar to the younger Potter either. It couldn’t be helped; there were genetic quirks, after all.

            “Harry, while I don’t believe in the whole ‘universe could implode’ scenario Hermione fed you in your previous life, I do believe that you and Harry Potter should be kept apart from each other,” said Remus gravely, his voice little above a whisper as the two conversed in the hallway. Beyond, they could hear laughter and conversation.

            “Of course I understand that, Remus,” replied the thirty-something time traveller. “I completely agree.”

            “Great,” sighed Remus. The two shared an unreadable look before turning and going back into the kitchen; but Harry did his best to remain behind others and after an hour or so, escaped to his office. They had preparations to make, anyway.

**

            The next day, Emily, Edith’s daughter, brought Harry his morning tea and toast, as well as a copy of the Daily Prophet. She did this very morning when Harry worked at Cloak & Dagger, without Harry asking. He was sure that Emily thought he was far too skinny.

            Harry murmured his thanks, engrossed in reading his correspondence and reports. Remus and Camilla were meeting the Department of Magical Games and Sports next Tuesday about the Quidditch World Cup. Harry wondered if he should CC: a copy of the report when it was done and over with to Hassan Mostafa.

            Harry stirred his tea and reached for the cup, holding it to his mouth. He took a sip, another and reached for the Daily Prophet, his eyes flickering at the headline as he did so.

            Tea sprayed everywhere.

            “REMUS!” Harry shouted in surprise and shock, toppling his tea onto his desk. He muttered a cleaning spell, removing the tea stains from his work, and stood, moving towards the door of his office with the paper clutched in his hand, as he continued shouting. “ _REMUS!_ ”

            He strode past Emily, who was on her feet and worrying her cardigan as she watched Harry stride past. “Mr. Houdini, sir?”

            Harry ignored her, passing the offices of his employees, ignoring their stares as they all poked their heads out and asked if everything was fine; finally reaching Remus’s office—on the other side of the hall—Harry pushed the door open and threw the Prophet on the werewolf’s desk.

            Remus glanced down.

            _Sirius Black escapes Azkaban Prison!_ The headline screamed. _Dementors sent to Hogwarts for pre-Hogwarts protection. Prime Minister Fudge requests Harry Potter come to the Ministry for Ministerial protection from Black._

            The lycanthrope looked back up at Harry, who stood firm and tall in front of his Vice President’s desk.

            “Harry…?”

            “Call Piers and the rest of the seven,” instructed Harry. “I want them in the boardroom in twenty minutes. We’re moving up the Horcrux schedule. If Sirius is out then we need to start moving on gathering the ring and locket.”

            Remus nodded and watched as Harry left the office, tense and irritable. While they were expecting Sirius’s escape this summer, having Fudge campaign for Harry’s ‘protection’ stank like Dumbledore. Cloak & Dagger needed to start collecting the Horcruxes before Dumbledore caught on to what Remus and Harry were up to, especially as Remus would not be offered the Defence position.

            Harry was waiting in the boardroom as everyone piled in; Remus, Jonathan and Yui were some of the first, while Sebastian and Edith made the tail end. As everyone sat, Harry held up the front page of the Prophet.

            “Sirius has escaped. We know he’s innocent, so we’re going to have to keep the Ministry off him as much as we can and help him out from behind the scenes. Remus, that will be your job. I know it’s a lot to ask of you on top of your meetings with the Ministry, but you’re the only one he’ll talk to you.

            “Piers,” Harry turned to the man, “Gather the Joe’s. Even if Jonathan and Justine’s communication system isn’t working perfectly, I need them out tonight. We’re going to Little Hangleton and retrieving the ring.”

            Piers nodded, wrote something down on his notepad, and then began scribbling more. Harry assumed he was thinking of equipment and who would be on the team tonight.

            “Justine, Jonathan—I’d hate to ask it of you, but that communication system needs its kinks worked out,” continued Harry, turning to face the two, who sat next to each other. “What’s the ETA on it?”

            The two looked at each other, flipped through their notes and sighed. “It’s all dependent on the magical levels in a witch or wizard. Unless we can negate it completely in the unit, we’re at a bit of a loss at the moment. We have a few ideas, but,” Jonathan shrugged. “At this point, maybe another two months. Maybe.”

            Harry frowned, thinking. “It has to be done by Christmas this year. Make it work.”

            Justine and Jonathan nodded, making a note of their deadline.

            “Edith, Sebastian, how’s the advanced Wolfsbane coming along?” asked Harry, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table now.

            “Fine,” answered Sebastian. “We’ve already had a few wolves come back showing interest in testing it out. We bought that house you were looking at ages ago, Harry, so they have a secure place to live during the testing. We begin at the start of September.”

            Harry nodded, then turned to Yui.

            She beat him to his question. “The firearms are good to go, and I think I can help Jonathan and Justine in the communicators, Harry. I might see it from another angle they haven’t looked at. Edith and Sebastian supply the firearms with the magically charged potions and spells in the bullets, so I’m done my project.”

            “Good,” answered Harry, nodding. The finally turned to Camilla. “Can you take over the Ministry contacts and meetings? Remus might not make it to all of them.”

            “Easily done,” agreed the single mother. “I’m sure they’ll have the TriWizard meetings soon too, so I’ll handle those. We’ve already heard some beginnings of negotiations on the Chatter system.”

            Harry smiled, pleased. “Good. Well then, Piers? Let’s go see the Joe’s. We’re going to start bringing down a Dark Lord tonight.”

**

 **Little Hangleton. August, 1993**.

 

            It was the middle of the night when Harry, Piers, Remus and several GI Joe’s arrived in Little Hangleton, their heavy-duty jeeps rumbling to a stop at the foot of the hill where the graveyard was located.

            They preferred the travel to Little Hangleton by non-magical means to not attract the Ministry and Dumbledore’s notice, especially as Remus was _almost_ “persona non grata” at the Ministry of Magic. His position and the revenue Cloak  & Dagger created for the Ministry kept them civil to the lycanthrope.

            Harry sat with Piers and Remus, and Quentin Smith. They went over the plans and the protections Harry thought they would find on the house. Since he never learnt from Dumbledore what there was, he assumed the worst and went from there.

            However, the Joe’s and Harry were going to be a bit different in their retrieval.

            The men stepped out of the jeep and surveyed the land. The graves and tombstones cast long shadows in the moonlight, creeping down the hill and splaying strange shapes along the grass. The large Riddle estate, located opposite the graveyard, was prominent and overshadowed the small town of Little Hangleton at the bottom of the hill. The row of seven jeeps driving through the small town had caused several inhabitants to box up with windows and keep their curiosity in check. After all, the town suffered from several strange phenomena over the years.

            Harry held back a shiver. He could still remember the feeling of the knife digging into his shoulder as Pettigrew gathered the blood for Voldemort’s ritual. The fear he felt, thinking _please, let it have drowned_ , as the cauldron bubbled away; the horror at seeing his parents’ murderer for the first time in a decade…

            Remus’s hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jumped, the Elder wand out at the ready.

            “Steady, Harry,” murmured Remus, his amber eyes showing his concern. “It’ll all be over soon.”

            Harry took a deep breath and nodded. Piers and Quentin pretended not to see, but both, having come from military backgrounds, could easily tell that the graveyard held some special meaning to Harry.

            “Is this the place that we’ve been training on back at Cloak?” asked one of the Joe’s, a sandy-haired, scruffy looking man in his thirties, as he glanced around. Wearing similar armour to the rest of the team, the man was nearly indistinguishable from those around him, except for his hair colour.

            “It is,” agreed Harry, his voice carrying in the still of the night. To their right, near the wooded area behind the graveyard at the slope of the hill, a lone owl hooted. “While you’ll still be participating in your drills for that, we’re actually heading into the woods.”

            The team assembled into their standard roles; Harry and Remus led the way with Piers and Quentin flanking them on either side—the rest of the Joe’s followed in rows of three, in a v-shape. Each Joe carried whatever Harry thought was necessary: rope, pickaxe, hammer, and in one or two cases, a non-magical chainsaw.

            As they eased around a worn, dirt path at the base of the graveyard and hill, they entered the woods. All sounds ceased and the branches overhead drew tightly together, blocking out much of the natural moonlight. The Joe’s with lights lit them and held them on top of their firearms, wrist-over-wrist, as trained.

            Splotches of light illuminated broken trees and brambles, and snapped in the direction of strange rustling and noises.

            “Do you know where you’re going?” Quentin finally asked, whispering.

            Harry nodded, speaking at normal volume. “Oh yes. And there’s no need to whisper. There hasn’t been anyone living around here in about fifty years.”

            Curious now, the rest of the Joe’s followed Harry cautiously along the path until the boss of Cloak & Dagger veered off. Remus followed, pushing a low-hanging branch out of the way and Piers saw a hidden trail, overrun with vines and creeping moss and bushes.

            After a few tense moments of being packed in between dense foliage, the Joe’s arrived at their location, startled and hesitant. There was a single ramshackle cottage, with parts missing in the roof and its porch collapsing in on itself in the middle of a small clearing. Branches from nearby trees were reaching over the roof and beginning to work their way into the holes left behind from missing roof tiles.

            “Um, boss?” asked a Joe, hesitantly. “Why does it feel like I shouldn’t be here? What kind of magic is that?”

            “It’s a modified Muggle-repelling ward,” answered Harry evenly, frowning as he surveyed the cottage. He moved closer slowly, unaware that his Joe’s flanked him and spread out, each taking a defensive position in case Harry tripped a ward; firearms and wands were out in both hands, wrist-over-wrist.

            As Harry reached the porch, but did not step onto it, he saw the snake nailed above the door. Remus stood beside him, with Piers and Quentin a little further back.

            “It’s in there,” said Harry softly. “Can you feel its lure?”

            “The Horcrux?” queried Remus, surprised. “No.”

            Harry frowned. He wasn’t talking about the Horcrux—although he could feel something off about the cottage. He was talking about the other part of him that he could feel was missing: the Resurrection Stone.

            While he hardly carried it around on missions, finding no use in calling up his dead parents, godfather and Remus Lupin, Harry kept his invisibility cloak and wand on him at all times for emergencies. Unfortunately, he left the Resurrection Stone behind in his original universe with his shadowy Middle Eastern contact.

            Idly, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had the Elder wand in this dimension and if the young Harry Potter had his father’s cloak. _Two_ Elder wands and Masters of Death would be strange—but with the lure of the Stone calling to Harry, the time traveller was assured that he was still the true Master of Death, despite the duplicates in this universe being in others’ hands.

            Unfortunately, Harry never got around to telling Remus about owning the Elder wand. Most wizards did not believe in the Deathly Hallows, and to have the Boy-Who-Lived also the Master of Death would be an additional burden and title Harry would have to endure. He didn’t plan on the titles, but he sure as hell planned to use it to the best of his abilities.

            Fighting the lure from the Stone as best as he could, Harry began to walk around the dilapidated cottage, gathering an idea as he did so. Finally, after several walks around the building, Harry nodded and motioned Piers and Quentin over to him.

            “I’ve got an idea…” he began.

            As dusk began to peek through the dense leaves and branches, Harry and the Joe’s were finally ready.

            While he was certain that Voldemort would ensure that _magicals_ could not enter the cottage, he probably did not think about non-magicals. With the team doing manual labour to get the work done, Harry deliberated about his idea.

            On every side of the old cottage, the Joe’s stood in groups of four, a long length of rope on the ground next to them and attached to the support beams and rotted wood of the walls.

            Harry and Remus stood on opposite sides, with Piers and Quentin on the other sides. Harry raised his hand and shouted the order. “Heave!”

            The Joe’s yanked the rope on all sides as hard as they could. Fifty years of nature caused the wooden structure to fall and break apart easily. The wood smacked the dirt ground, sending up clouds and making a loud racket. No one from the town would hear though.

            Harry waved a hand in front of his face to move the dirt cloud. He coughed a bit. “Remus? Piers? Quentin?”

            “Here and fine,” called Remus’s hoarse voice from the opposite side of the cloud, distant and choked.

            “I’m fine,” shouted back Quentin.

            “Me too,” agreed Piers, both men from opposite sides.

            “Anyone hurt?” asked Harry, as the cloud began to disperse.

            There were no noises of pain and the Joe’s all replied with affirmatives; slowly the cloud disappeared and Harry saw the remnants of the Gaunt family home lying like matchsticks piled on top of one another. Somewhere under that were the floorboards; possibly intact and maybe not.

             The Joe’s slowly began inching towards the remains. Harry joined them, taking a pair of heavy-duty work gloves from one of the men as they inched closer. Thanking him quietly, Harry observed the building. He couldn’t hear any hissing, indicating that Voldemort didn’t use live snakes as his protection—that meant it was something deadlier.

            “Right, well, let’s start clearing these and be careful about it!” instructed Harry, ready to join in with the labour.

            Halfway through the morning, as the sun climbed higher and the densely wooded area began to heat up and trap the day’s warmth, the Joe’s had removed the majority of the wooden beams that hid the floorboards.

            Some floorboards were dented and in places where the support beams had punctured through the rotten wood; other places were already damaged from animals. Natural rot also ate away parts of the floorboards, but there was an area that remained untouched from the natural elements.

            Harry shook his head. Sadly, Voldemort was, if anything, completely predictable. The floor gleamed as if it was just polished, free of dirt, wood chips and damage.

            “Is that where we want to dig?” asked Quentin, frowning in concentration as his eyes darted about, thinking of the easiest way to complete their task.

            Harry nodded. He turned to address the group. “Before we begin, does anyone feel a pull, or a lure towards that spot?”

            Two Joe’s put their hands up, hesitantly. Harry smiled easily at them.

            “No worries, boy—you’ll just have to sit this one out. How about you go back to the jeep and bring us the iron container?”

            The two Joe’s nodded and began back through the dense path to the jeeps by the graveyard.

            Harry surveyed the men around him. “This is a word of advice and warning for all of you, as well—if you begin to feel like you’re attracted to what’s under the floorboards; begin moving back towards the jeep. We’ll catch up with you afterward.”

            The men nodded in understanding and Harry motioned for Quentin to begin. The head of the Joe’s began handing out the axes, while the two chainsaws’ cords were pulled and they began rumbling.

            The men slowly made work of the remaining floorboards, cutting the area away from the undamaged area. When they finally the floorboard alone, barely two feet by two, Harry motioned for everyone to stand back. He used a shovel and began digging around the floorboards, which had collapsed onto the ground. Voldemort had placed his treasure under the floorboards, in a small hole. Harry was digging towards that hole, subverting the protections Voldemort put on the floorboards.

            Harry knew that there would be more protections, but he was willing to take that risk.

            The Joe’s stood at the ready, with Remus and Piers on either side of Harry as his hole and dirt mound grew; finally, a hint of gold peeked through the loose dirt. The earth fell away and Harry was through: a small, golden chest stood upright in the hole.

            “Let’s get the clamps out!” shouted Harry as the men behind him scrambled to do as he said.

            Moments later, a rope with a lasso and strange metal circles around the lasso part, was thrust into Harry’s hands. Nodding in satisfaction, Harry felt the rope and pondered for a few moments before throwing the rope into the hole, circling the chest.    

            Yui’s brilliance in robotics demonstrated itself as the small metal circles, with weights on the bottom to have them stand up instead of lie down, began to slowly roll towards the chest. Behind Harry, Quentin was using a monitor to direct the small circles.

            When the rope was taut, the circles began inching their way up the slope of the hole Harry made, inching the chest out. It was a slow-going process, time consuming and by the end of the hour, Harry was itching to go for the chest.

            A few of the men also had to excuse themselves as the chest came into view; they turned and walked back to the jeeps, with one or two remaining as far away as they could while still providing cover.

When the chest was pulled out of the hole in its entirety, Harry swallowed heavily. He could feel the Stone calling to him, his owner, but he also felt Voldemort’s presence in the ring.

The two original men who left near the beginning of the excavation had returned while Quentin was pulling the chest out. They set the iron container on the ground and then returned to the jeeps.

The iron container was tipped sideways, the top opening level with the ground and Quentin continued to direct the rope and the chest into the container, which took another hour. When it was finally in, Remus strode forward and pulled the rope off, then shut the iron lid.

Immediately, everyone felt the effects from the chest and what was it in lift.

“Great job!” cheered Harry, picking up the container and cradling it in his arms. “You guys did a great job!”

Harry wouldn’t tell the Joe’s what they just contained—Remus and Piers knew that Quentin knew better than to ask. Once the entire ordeal was over, and if Harry survived, he might tell everyone. But until then, his well-trained Joe’s knew to ask no questions and do as they were told. They were briefed about possible dangers ahead of time and would slowly be fed the information they needed before the showdown at the graveyard.

 _Until then, though_ , thought Harry as he absently pet the container and smiled, he would continue to strike silent blows against Voldemort. Everything was going according to plan.

**

TBC…


	4. Part Four

Greater Than, Lesser Be

Kneazle

**

PART FOUR

**

Alice laughed. “ _There’s no use trying_ ,” she said. “ _One can’t believe impossible things._ ” 

“ _I daresay you haven’t had much practice_ ,” said the Queen. “ _When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast._ ”

\- Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking Glass_

**

            Jonathan walked through the doors of Gringott’s bank as if he owned it. As the youngest member of the ‘inner’ group of Harry’s employees, Jonathan was in a unique position from the moment he signed on to Cloak & Dagger. He was barely twenty and still spotty when he joined, and in the near decade that past, he was still one of the most charismatic and shrewd on the team.

            He was also considered, thanks to his age, to be perfect for the role that needed to be played out.

            While Camilla and her son were surrogates along with Remus, with their roles defined to aid the young Harry Potter, Jonathan’s role was that of liaison. His first contact was a current employee of Gringott’s Bank, recently back in the UK from Egypt, by the name of William Weasley.

            The choice of Bill Weasley was two-fold: the first, he was a skilled curse breaker and asset to Gringott’s; the second, he was young, impressionable, and although it was uncouth of Harry Houdini and the rest of the seven to say, financially struggling.

            It made Jonathan’s job slightly easier.

            Bill was supposed to meet him in the main lobby of the bank and then the two would go to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. While Jonathan had some reservations about bringing a Weasley in on the plot (for obvious reasons), Harry seemed to think highly of Bill Weasley.

            Jonathan wasn’t the type to doubt Harry.

            The young Weasley was not difficult to spot. The young, twenty-something Pureblood was tall, with long red hair tied back into a ponytail. Gangly to the point of almost being called scrawny, Bill Weasley wore trousers, boots, and a non-magical button-up with a leather jacket. There was not a single wizards’ robe in sight. Jonathan found he liked that.

            Tugging at the bottom of his blazer, Jonathan strode up to Bill Weasley with a smile on his face. “William Weasley?” he asked, as soon as he was a few feet away.

            Bill nodded, looking at Jonathan from head to toe. “Mr. Randolf?”

            Jonathan held out his hand, and Bill shook it. “Shall we?” asked Jonathan, indicating back outside the bank and towards lunch at the Leaky.

            Along the way the two made small talk, with Jonathan asking about Bill’s family – he wanted to get a better idea of the family Harry cared for so much before their betrayal – and work in Egypt. The conversation continued even as they sat down and ordered their midday meal.

            “Excuse me, Mr. Randolf, but I’m not entirely sure why you want to meet with me,” began Bill hesitantly. “Do you have an interest in curse breaking?”

            Jonathan smiled as he thought back to the smells required to contain the Horcruxes. “In a manner of speaking,” he admitted, eyes twinkling.

            Bill relaxed and the two chatted about curse breaking spells and manoeuvres and techniques Bill used in Egypt, as the server placed their stews on the table.

            “Was there something you needed to be curse free?” Bill asked finally.

            Jonathan paused. The answer was _yes_ , but Bill was not supposed to be on their team for another few years. His job was something altogether different.

            “Actually, Bill – if I may call you Bill?” at Bill’s nod, Jonathan continued. “What Cloak & Dagger would really like is for your help in another matter.”

            “ _My_ help?” asked Bill, incredulous. “You’re a multimillion galleon company with several offshoots that generate one of the largest revenues in magical Britain! What could I possibly do to help you?”

            Jonathan laced his fingers together and leaned back in his seat. Casually, he waved his wand and set up an advanced, adapted form of _Muffilato_.

            “Mr. Weasley, Bill – what Cloak & Dagger wants from you is something that you can possibly procure for us,” began Jonathan carefully. “We would, of course, pay you to do this job – but in addition, should it result in the termination from your job at Gringott’s, we are more than happy to offer you unconditional employment at our headquarters in Dorset.”

            Bill narrowed his eyes. “What exactly do you need from me, Mr. Randolf?”

            There was no way to beat around the bush anymore. Jonathan inwardly sighed and crossed his fingers under the table where Bill couldn’t see.

            “Cloak & Dagger needs you to steal the blueprints to the Pureblood vaults located on the lower level of Gringott’s.”

**

            Back in Dorset, Harry and Remus were in the middle of a meeting with Camilla.

            “Chatter’s indicated that the Department of Magical Games and Sports is already geared up for their big meetings to begin organising the Quidditch World Cup and the TriWizard Tournament. Preliminary meetings are set to begin next Thursday, and we’ve been invited to them as well.” Here, Camilla paused. “Well, to the Quidditch meetings anyway.”

            Harry nodded. “That was to be expected. To insinuate ourselves for the TriWizard, we need to give them something. I think a couple hundred thousand galleons would suffice as a sponsor, don’t you?”

            Remus frowned. “That’s a lot of money to be throwing into the Tournament, Harry. Are you sure that won’t tip the scale into changing events?”

            Harry shook his head, rubbing gently at one temple with a free hand. “I don’t think so, Remus. Essentially we just need to be there and have a high enough standing and reason to be at each task, as well as at the final task. I need those cameras and screens set for the third task.”

            Here, he frowned. “What exactly are our sales figures on the MageBox?”

            Camilla pulled out a second folio thick with paper and began searching through. “We launched the MageBox commercially in 1991, worldwide. Through discounted sales of our staff at Cloak & Dagger as well as Mostafa’s Quidditch Association, there were sales of over 500 units. After the Quidditch demonstration, the sales jumped from 560 units to over 1200, globally.”

Harry waved off the global figures. “Local, please.”

Camilla nodded. “After the launch of our storefront property in Diagon Alley, we sold over 3000 MageBoxes to the British wizarding community. We’re looking at one in every second home, almost.”

            Remus was nodding along as Camilla read her data, while Harry was looking thoughtful. “So pretty much you either have a MageBox if you’re living in Britain, or you know someone who does.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Harry nodded thoughtfully and rose from his chair in front of Remus’s desk. He stood by the window for a moment, and then began pacing.

            “Harry?” queried Remus gently. “What’s on your mind?”

            “They’re releasing the location for the Quidditch World Cup final in a week, right?” Harry asked Camilla, turning to face her.

            Camilla nodded, checking her Chatter transcripts. “Yes, this Friday.”

            Harry pursed his lips and made a decision. “On Friday, I want the MageBox to have a special reduction in price and subscription. Every Briton will want one of these in their house so that they can watch the Cup if they didn’t get tickets. If it was a matter of price previously, it won’t be now. I want a huge campaign from our marketing team on this, and it needs to get done and out in five days.”

            Camilla and Remus began making notes as soon as Harry began speaking, their pens flying across their paper.

            “As for the meetings, Camilla, when you go to the TriWizard one, try to swing it so it looks like _they’re_ asking for _us_ to be a sponsor, instead of it coming from us suggesting it. I want to make it seem like they’re in our debt, so we can call some shots,” continued Harry, resuming his pacing.

            “Is Ludo Bagman one of our customers?” asked Remus, his thinking cap on as he tapped the end of his pen against the tabletop.

            Camilla frowned and rustled through the papers again, searching for a complete listing of their British customers with the MageBox. She finally located the ‘B’ section and skimmed a finger down the list. “He is.”

            Harry snorted. “He’s a douche, but our ticket in this as well. The man was involved in both the Quidditch World Cup and the TriWizard Tournament in my previous existence. He’ll be a firm supporter us getting our screen contract at the Cup, and with his gambling problems and problems with the goblins we might be able to swing his support our way if we suggest quietly settling his debts.”

            Remus pulled a face. “Isn’t that bribing him to do what we want?”

            Harry shook his head. “Not if we don’t tell him what to do. A few well-placed sighs, whines from our mouths and he’ll bend backwards to stay on our good side if we’ve paid off his massive debt.”

            Camilla smirked. “So we will only need to worry about Crouch, then?”

            “Pretty much,” said Harry absently, as he went to sit back at his seat, facing Remus. “Only for the next year or so, anyway – until his son has got him under the Imperius.”

            “I don’t like how we’re technically accessory to murder, Harry,” said Remus quietly. “We know about these deaths that will happen and we’re doing nothing.”

            “We’re preserving the timeline so that when we _do_ change it, Remus, we’ll be saving thousands of lives,” argued back Harry tiredly. Clearly, they’ve had the discussion before.

            Remus tightened his lips against the weary response to his question, but if he felt any further moral necessity to share, he chose not to. At that point, a knock on his office door had everyone in the room turning to face it; Jonathan walked in.

            “Whoa,” he began, his eyes taking in the tense atmosphere and scowls on his colleagues faces. “I come with good news.”

            “Oh?” asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

            “Yeah,” grinned Jonathan, who was still standing in the doorway. He reached behind, just out of sight of those within the room, and yanked a sheepish, and nervous, Bill Weasley to stand next to him. “May I please introduce Mr. William Weasley, formerly of Gringott’s Bank, London branch?”

**

            Arthur Weasley was a patient, kind-hearted man with very little ambition to proceed any further than being the Department Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department in the Ministry of Magic. He liked tinkering, he liked creating, but he certainly did not enjoy the paperwork and there would be even more were he promoted to another, higher position.

            His middle son, Percy, was under the impression that Arthur wasn’t ambitious and it was his love for Muggle “toys” that held him back in work; this was not true—it was Arthur’s own pleasure in remaining comfortably where he was, despite knowing that with several hungry mouths to feed and children to clothe, he would always be sacrificing something for someone.

            Until his eldest, Bill, Floo’d through to the Burrow, looking pale and shaky.

            His arrival occurred during the middle of dinner, before Ron’s third year and Ginny’ second. Percy was Head Boy; Molly cooked a special dinner in celebration.

            When Bill walked into the kitchen, Molly stood and exclaimed, “Bill!” moving forward to embrace him. She stopped, abruptly, upon seeing his wide blue eyes.

            “Son?” asked Arthur, also rising from his seat as conversation stopped at the table. “What’s happened?”

            “Mum,” began Bill, blinking, “Dad…”

            “Bill?” asked Arthur, gently.

            “I quit Gringotts,” the eldest Weasley blurted.

            There was a moment of shocked silence, before Molly tentatively asked, “Bill? Dear? Why would you do that?” Panic quickly overcame her as a suggestion popped into her mind. “You’re not going back to Egypt, are you? It’s dangerous, Bill! I thought you wanted to be close to home!”

            “Uh…” stuttered Bill, glancing at his calm father, “I will be close to home, mum. Actually, I’ll be working out of Dorset.”

            Molly paused, and Arthur frowned. “You’ve taken a new job, Bill? But you wanted to work for Gringotts for quite some time.”

            Bill nodded, running a hand through his long hair. He walked slowly to his usual seat at the kitchen table and slowly folded his lanky body into the chair. “I know, but… I received a job offer I couldn’t refuse. At all.”

            Understanding suddenly bloomed on Percy’s face, but the teenager kept silent.

            Arthur glanced at his middle son before looking back at Bill. “Are you sure that’s what you want? You shouldn’t sacrifice your dreams and hopes for money, Bill.”

            Bill laughed, colour slowly working back into his face. “I won’t admit that the money didn’t tempt me, but the job is interesting and I can still work with cursebreaking.”

            “Where are you working?” asked Molly, settling back into her seat with a friendly tone now that she realised Billy wasn’t moving out of the country for a dangerous job. She handed her son a plate of food.

            Here, Bill paused before casually stating, “Cloak & Dagger Incorporated.”

The twins’ jaws dropped, forks clattering to their plates, while Arthur asked, “What?”

Bill nodded, reaching for the plate from his mother’s hands. “Yeah, I thought so too when one of their Department Heads sent me an owl, requesting to meet me. But they needed me to do something for them and offered me employment. The salary is amazing and I can stay here in the UK.”

“That’s not what I meant,” began Arthur. “I meant that Cloak & Dagger is one of the Ministry’s largest suppliers and offers hundreds of Galleons for charity events and luncheons. Their CEO and the Minister are on first-name bases! They’re also one of the hardest companies to be hired into. Bill, son—I… congratulations.”

“Thanks, Dad,” said Bill, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth.

“When do you start?” asked Percy, curiously.

“Tomorrow,” answered Bill with a shrug. “We signed confidentiality agreements so I can’t say what I’m doing but I know that it’s time sensitive.”

“And you’re important to this job?” asked Ron, bluntly, eyes wide. “What do you have to offer than someone else doesn’t?”

Ignoring his youngest brother’s poorly chosen words, Bill answered, “Cursebreaking talents. And they liked me.”

Bill flashed Ron a grin and winked at Ginny, who giggled.

Ron scowled. “So how much are you gonna make then?”

Bill shrugged, although Arthur could see how much his son was affecting his blasé attitude, if only to rile Ron. “Starting salary wage.”

Molly nodded. “A few hundred galleons then,” she said knowledgably.

Bill shook his head. “No, mum—their starting salary wage is forty thousand British pounds… or over a thousand Galleons per year.”

Ron was practically green with envy while the twins—here, Arthur narrowed his eyes—well, they admired to company’s creativity enough to understand how much talent each hire had. They were nothing but pleased as punch for their elder brother, if not scheming a way to get a tour of the Cloak & Dagger facilities. 

Percy’s fork fell to the floor as Ron wailed, “So unfair!”

With a gleam in the middle son’s eyes, Arthur saw Percy’s ambitions changed from working at the Ministry to getting a job at Cloak & Dagger.

 _Well, at least he won’t be a Ministry stooge anymore_ , thought Arthur, with a mental shrug.

**

**23 December, 1993. Gringott’s Bank.**

 

            “ _Enter stranger and take heed,_ ” muttered Piers darkly, standing in a very dark vault in Gringott’s Bank.

            “Oh, shut up,” muttered Jonathan, snappish. “It’s not like _you’re_ the one on a pulley!”

            “Can both of you keep _quiet_?” snarled Yui, as she turned away from her hydraulic tool and lifted the protective mask with her gloved hand. “I’m trying to concentrate here!”

            Harry patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. “Just keep working on it, Yui, I’ll keep them quiet.” And he did with a well-placed eye glare.

            Three hours ago, they had successfully snuck into Gringott’s bank in Diagon Alley as, throughout the hour, they entered under the reason of visiting their business account vault, which, given the size of the gold in it, was located fairly deep in the underground labyrinth.

            Over the course of several months, they spent numerous hours within their locked vault whenever Harry or his Department Heads visited Gringott’s, setting up an established and legitimate request for needing several hours in their vault to overlook accounts and payroll. While they did not subcontract out to Gringott’s, Harry ensured that Cloak & Dagger invested in enough “risky” businesses that the goblins—greedy bastards that they were—always took a hefty percentage for transaction use. It kept the goblins happy and it kept Cloak & Dagger happy.

            Bill Weasley had certainly come through for the team, producing the Gringott’s floor plans and vault access designs. Remus and Bill were able to locate the Cloak & Dagger vault and once Remus was fairly confident in reading the Gobblegook goblin language and decipher the strange keynote symbols the goblins used, they planned their break in.

Unfortunately, they were pushing their time limit. Currently, Harry, Piers, Jonathan, Yui and Justine were in the vault above the Lestrange ancestral vault. Luckily, when Harry acquired Grunnings Drill Company years ago, he had no idea that they were branching out to various quarries and oilrigs throughout the world—making Grunnings a very profitable and enterprising company. Helpful, too, Harry decided, as he “acquired” several hydraulic rock hammers and drills for this exact purpose.

             Yui used a special precision rock splitter that was portable and durable, but also easy to use in small areas… like loaded vaults. Currently, Harry and his friends had punched small, crawl-only holes in the vaults they passed through on their way to the Lestrange vault. The holes were also full and small enough of galleons and heirlooms that Piers was able to “rearrange” the furniture to hide their holes.

            It wouldn’t last forever, Harry knew, but he wasn’t worried about being discovered. The treaty the goblins signed with the wizarding world stated that unless invited into the vault, goblins could not enter… and most wizards did little to look around their vaults other than grab money, and no house elf would displease their master by telling them about a hole in their vault!

            “Yui, you’ve got about 5 more minutes to break through this if we’re going to stay on schedule,” said Harry, glancing at his wind-up wristwatch.

            The young woman scowled behind her protective mask but remained silent. Harry watched from a distance as Yui made a final, small circular hole. Several holes of the same size made the same pattern, creating a dotted outline the size of a sewage hole. Using a hydraulic saw, Yui would then cut through the stone, playing connect the dots until the piece fell into the vault below.

With a loud _hisssss_ the hydraulics shut off and Yui removed her mask, looking up at Harry with lines on her face from where the straps bit into her skin.

            As she grinned widely at her boss, as the stone piece fell from the vault floor they were in and landed with a large _crunch_.

            “Ready Johnny?” grinned Piers, as he and Harry griped the ropes for the pulley system Jonathan was strapped into.

            “No,” mumbled Jonathan. He sighed and sat on the floor next to the hole, and stuck his legs through. Wearing an all-black nylon suit, Jonathan looked like the cat burglar he was: several pouches along his hip belt contained flashlights and other necessities, just as dung bombs and smoke screens. A small backpack contained a flat-packed iron container that would they hold the Horcrux to minimize its impact.

With a nod at Harry and Piers, he pushed off and slipped through the hole, holding his breath and praying the pulley system would hold his weight.

            Jonathan was slowly lowered into the large vault, apprehension causing him to sweat and licked his dry lips. It would be the first time he would be allowed to retrieve a Horcrux without Harry’s presence.

            One Jonathan felt his feet touch the solid stone beneath, he tugged on the pulley string to signal slack. He heard the soft sound of the rope hitting the stone floor around him as he was given slack. Jonathan began patting his hips, knowing that Piers strapped a magically infused flashlight in one of the belt pockets. He fumbled a moment or two before retrieving the flashlight and twisting the bottom handle.

            A thin stream of light emitted from the flashlight and illuminated a ferocious-looking stuffed hellhound. Jonathan shrieked, the girly sound pitching high and echoing around the vault.

            “Jonathan?” called Harry, sounding very far away. “Are you alright?”

            “Fine!” called Jonathan, staring at the glowing red eyes of the hellhound. He did not want to tell anyone he freaked out over a stuffed dog.

            Twisting his mouth in a grimace, Jonathan began searching for the Horcrux. It did not take long before he felt a pull towards one part of the vault, behind a large stack of coins.

            _Drink from me, Jonathan,_ a voice soothed. _I will fill your parched throat and tongue with sweet nectar…_

            The Horcrux was on a small rise, which Jonathan discovered as an overturned gold bedpan. The voice continued to mock, plead and beg Jonathan to touch it, but the young wizard knew better. Forewarned, after all, was forearmed…

            Jonathan pulled out the iron container from the backpack and began snapping the pieces together in a makeshift puzzle, locking each one in place. Once the pieces were assembled, he opened the lid and carefully slid the container over the Horcrux/Cup of Hufflepuff, ensuring that it did not touch the sides of the iron container.

            With a trembling hand, Jonathan took a deep breath and in a single motion scooped the iron container and snapped the lid shut, listening to the dull and muffled bangs as the Cup rattled against the sides of the container.

            Jonathan cradled the container as he walked back to where his slack rope coiled underneath the sewer-sized hole. There was too much rope dragged along the floor to where he found the Cup, so the young wizard used his free hand to start tugging the extended rope back towards him. Once he was satisfied there were only a few feet of rope extended beyond the broken tiles and pieces of rock from the vault ceiling, Jonathan tugged firmly on the still hanging rope.

            The slack began to lessen and slowly Jonathan was lifted from the Lestrange vault back into the vault above. Piers was pale, Yui was tense but Harry… the wizard looked pleased.

            Piers and Harry grabbed an arm each and hauled Jonathan away from the hole, and Yui moved behind him, beginning to unclip the harness and rope from him.

            “Got it?” asked Harry, unnecessarily.

            Jonathan nodded and passed over the container, feeling a weight off his shoulders as he did so. He never even noticed that weight had been there in the first place.

            Harry smiled thinly in triumph, cradling the container. Another Horcrux down, and only three more to go.

**

**Early June, 1994: Near Little Hangleton**

 

            Remus and Harry were in their posh company Bentley, enjoying their smooth trip to Little Hangleton’s town hall, where they would be meeting with a town employee. Having made the appointment several months ago, Harry and Remus were hoping to please the townsfolk by purchasing the old Riddle mansion and gain the floor plans for their final attack on Voldemort.

            The ride was quiet as Remus enjoyed watching the scenery and Harry caught up on some memos and reports from Piers, Justine and Jonathan.

            “Harry’s been sending me some owls lately,” commented Remus suddenly, looking from out the tinted window to Harry, beside him in the back seat.

            “Oh?” questioned the time traveller, glancing up briefly. “About what?”

            “It seems Sirius Black was spotted near Hogsmeade a few weeks ago,” answered Remus. “He’s heading for Hogwarts.”

            “And Weasley’s rat, I’m sure,” replied Harry with a grimace and twitch of his nose. “I’m surprised it took him this long. I’m sure he made it into Hogwarts earlier in the previous timeline. Slashed the Fat Lady’s portrait.”

            “Things can change. Our Harry’s not going to look for him.”

            Harry barked a laugh. “Are you saying that I did the first time around? All I knew was that Sirius Black was a murderer who escaped the Az. I didn’t even know he was my godfather until I overheard Fudge with McGonagall and Flitwick during the Christmas holidays.”

            Remus shrugged, reaching into his pocket for a pocket watch; he clicked the bronze lid off, checked the time, and replaced it. “Well, Harry was asking about him. Wanted to know more about why he was so dangerous.”

            “Did you reply?”

            Remus glanced back out the window. Almost guiltily, he stated, “Yes, but I didn’t answer him.”

            Harry frowned. “If you did that to me, back when I was thirteen, I wouldn’t be pleased. So I doubt he is, too.”

            “We’ll be arriving soon, Mr. Houdini, sir,” called the driver as a privacy barrier lowered briefly. “Five minutes, top.”

            “Thank you, Clarkson,” replied Harry with an easy-going smile.

            The car eased up next to a semi-ramshackle building, one that emitted the feeling of neglect and old-world grandeur that had long since faded. The old mining town was half-rotted and falling into disrepair as its citizens left for greener pastures.

            An elderly man was waiting on the steps leading into the town hall, an eighteenth-century, one-storey building with a glass and copper dome that was smudged brown and green from dirt and ozone.

            Remus exited the car first, followed by Harry on the other side. The elderly man began down the steps, pausing as Remus stepped up two to meet him.

            “Mr. Lupin?” the man questioned, bushy white eyebrow rising.

            Remus smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ravenbrook. Thank you for meeting Mr. Houdini and myself.”

            Ravenbrook, the elderly towns worker, nodded at Remus and then turned to Harry. He looked the young CEO up and down before politely gesturing towards the heavy entrance doors. “Shall we?”

            The two Cloak & Dagger men joined Ravenbrook up the steps and into the oppressive building. They did not stop to comment on the filtered light from the dome, or the dirty polished marble flooring with chips and dents in it. Instead, they walked down a small corridor off the entrance foyer and through a heavy-looking dark pine door.

            Ravenbrook motioned at two faded red wingback chairs that stood before his desk. The furniture in the room matched, creating a heavy, dark feel with red velvet curtains drawn at a single window; a large leather-upholstered swivel chair behind the desk and a wall filled with green-bound books. A stern-looking man in waistcoat frowned down at Remus and Harry from a heavily gilded gold frame high above and behind Ravenbrook’s desk.

            “I must admit, when the town repossessed the old Riddle mansion in the 50s, we thought it would have sold quickly,” began Ravenbrook quietly, as he reached for a folder he had set aside previously on his desk. “But when no one decided to purchase after the first decade or so, the town and bank were not too worried. Mr. Bryce, the groundskeeper, has remained on retainer, continuing his maintenance of the ground despite his… dubious background.”

            “We are well aware of the unfortunate circumstances that surround the Riddle mansion,” stated Remus calmly. “We also understand that the town would be grateful to have a money-sucker such as the Riddle mansion out of its possession. Mr. Houdini and myself don’t mind a short sale.”

            “After all,” added Harry quietly, as he laced his fingers together in his lap, crossing his right ankle over his left knee, “I’m sure there aren’t any other buyers.”

            Ravenbrook pursed his lips, eerily reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall, but did not rise to Harry’s bait. He cleared his throat. “That being said, the town and bank are happy to accept your purchase offer of £1.5 million, including the closing costs.”

            Both Harry and Remus knew that the mansion was worthless, rotted in places and missing foundation and support beams, but they also wanted the building. If the town and bank thought they were planning on flipping the mansion, regaining the value, or using it as a private residence, then they would be sadly mistaken.

            Neither Remus, nor Harry, had any desire to fix the old building. The government overlooked the building, never giving it a historical grade and therefore leaving it vulnerable for demolition. One day, Harry was sure, once everything was over with Voldemort, he would have the mansion torn apart, brick by brick.

            “Included in the deeds to the property, are the building plans as you requested, and all the copies of the keys we could find from our backroom,” continued Ravenbrook. “Of course, there is the matter of Mr. Bryce…?”

            Remus and Harry shared a glance. Harry knew that Frank Bryce would die in a few months time, when Pettigrew and Voldemort would return to the mansion and use it as their base. However, Remus’ plea to save at least one person tugged at Harry. Was Frank’s death necessary? What did he prove other than to die by Voldemort’s hand, unsuspecting of who the intruder was?

            And better yet, what if Harry received the vision again before the World Cup invite and lingered over it? Worrying about Voldemort and his agent at Hogwarts? …even the first time around, Harry remembered the vision but didn’t think it serious enough to warrant immediate concern to his wellbeing, even after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire.

            “I would appreciate it if you offer him an attractive pension and severance pay from our purchase deal,” began Harry cautiously, not looking at Remus. “Please make him aware that it is his choice if he would like to retire from being the Riddle groundskeeper or not.”

            Ravenbrook nodded and Remus inhaled sharply. Harry reasoned it was the best he could do. Voldemort wouldn’t care about a muggle either way, but at least the offer for Frank Bryce to leave was on the table. He wasn’t changing or deviating from the original timeline too much.

            Ravenbrook shook hands with Harry and Remus, handed them the folder and the rusty ring with several different sized keys on it. The man ushered the two out of the office and out of the building quickly, the door to the town hall shutting behind them firmly.

            “How nice,” muttered Harry, glancing back once before starting down the steps and towards the Bentley.

            “Harry…”

            Sighing, Harry turned at faced Remus, looking up at the werewolf. “Don’t say it Remus. Don’t. I’ve done what I could for Frank Bryce and if he’s a smart man, he’ll take the money and live comfortably for the rest of his life. No matter what, the people of this town will think him a murderer. With some money, he might be able to live a quiet life away from this Godforsaken town.”

            Remus tightened his lips but gave a sharp nod; he was taking orders from the man who was holding tightly onto the cards he needed to ensure a winning hand. However much Remus disagreed, he knew what they were playing with. Someone was bound to lose their life somewhere along the way… Remus just hoped it wasn’t his friend.

            The werewolf sighed again and joined Harry in the car. They eased away from the town hall and then onto the motorway, back towards southern England, the two settled in for their long drive.

            When it was only an hour into the drive, with Harry snoring softly beside Remus, Remus felt his Chatter system mirror vibrate. Frowning, he tapped the incoming symbol on the bottom of the mirror, activating the connection.

            A panicked, younger version of the man sitting next to him filled the screen. “Uncle Remus!”

            “Harry?” asked Remus, sitting up straight in his seat, the seatbelt biting into his chest as he did so. Beside him, Harry snorted and woke up, instantly alert. “What’s wrong?”

            “I—I don’t know where to start,” began the younger Harry, glancing behind. Remus and Harry could hear some strange noises in the background, shouts and scuffles. “I was out with Hermione and Neville for Buckbeak’s execution – you remember me telling you about it, how Hagrid’s lost the appeal?”

            Remus nodded, Harry listening attentively next to him.

            “Well, we went out to see Hagrid and offer him some words of support,” continued Harry, quickly and almost babbling. “Hermione’s idea, you know? We’ve been helping her look up laws… anyway, while we were there, Fudge and Dumbledore and this other guy showed up and Hagrid shoved us out his back door with the cookie jar. When Neville went to open it, we found Ron Weasley’s pet rat! Neville wanted to return it to him—he’s been a right prat about Hermione’s kneazle, Crookshanks, eating him—but the damn rat bit Neville’s hand and took off towards the Whomping Willow!”

            The younger Harry took a deep breath while the Harry next to Remus had an uneasy feeling as to what happened next.

            “Neville and I chased after it; Neville had it in his hand when this _massive_ black dog came out of nowhere, snapped up Neville and the rat! Bit hard into Nev’s arm, Hermione and I heard this terrible crunching noise…” the teen paled.

            “Harry,” began Remus patiently, although Harry-the-time-traveller could see the tension in him. “Where are you now?”

            “Hermione says we’re in the Shrieking Shack! The dog wasn’t a dog, Uncle Remus! He turned into Black!” stated the panicked teen. “He’s been going on and on about how he wants Weasley’s rat! What is going on?”

            Harry, beside Remus, raised an eyebrow lazily. “I’m guessing you’re regretting not telling him everything when he asked in his owl, are you?”

            Remus shot a glare at Harry, before turning back to the mirror. “Harry, where’s Sirius now?”

            Harry paused in the mirror, frowning slightly before tilting his head slightly and angling the mirror. Remus could see a dirty and ravaged-looking Sirius Black standing at the other end of the upstairs room in the Shrieking Shack, eyes staring at the rat in Neville’s hand. Hermione stood off to Neville’s side, her wand aloft.

            Remus was certain that Snape would arrive soon, create some havoc, and then Pettigrew would escape. However, Remus owed Harry an explanation now, given his sticky situation.

            Sighing, Remus instructed, “Harry, hand the mirror to Sirius. He won’t hurt you.”

            “He hurt Neville!”

            “He didn’t mean it. He’s not all there in his head, but he would never hurt Neville, or you and Hermione, intentionally. Please.”

            Harry swallowed but followed his uncle’s instructions; the boy was in awe of the werewolf, the one who told him of his parents’ legacy and took him from the Dursley’s to the Potter ancestral home in Wales. He would trust him explicitly.

            The mirror was handed cautiously to Sirius Black, who reached for it with a tentative hand. Once he glanced into the frame, though, he nearly dropped the mirror in response.

            “Moony!”

            Remus nodded. “Padfoot.”

            “You look the same as when you visited me in Azkaban. How long ago has that been now?” asked Sirius slowly, his grey eyes raking over Remus’s haircut and the edge of his designer suit jacket. The lush interior of the car completed the image.

            “About two years now, Padfoot,” answered Remus carefully. “You found Peter then?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” hissed Sirius, his face contorting from pleasantly surprised to rage-filled. “He’s been here at Hogwarts the entire time! Why didn’t you get him, Moony? Why didn’t you _see_ him?”

            “I am no longer welcomed at Hogwarts,” answered Remus darkly. “Dumbledore and I have had a… disagreement.”

            Sirius’s face turned from rage to confusion; Harry worried about the state of his mental health and if it was that bad the first time around. Why hadn’t he _noticed_?

            “Moony, what is _going on_?” asked Sirius, the angry tone changing to pitiful worry by the end of the plea.

            Remus sighed. “Padfoot – Harry doesn’t know about you. Get Pettigrew, keep him alive and _get the fuck out of there_. As soon as you can. Hand the mirror back to Harry and I’ll make sure he doesn’t argue.”

            Sirius’s face twisted into confusion and disobedience, but he was a dog animagus for a reason; he obeyed better than gave orders. Pack was important.

            The mirror went back to Harry, who overheard the conversation. “When I get back to the mansion, Remus, you’d better have a good reason for this,” the teenager cautioned.

            Remus nodded, but inwardly shivered. That stern, dead-eyed look was one he was scarily familiar with; in fact, when the conversation of Frank Bryce occurred not more than an hour ago, he saw it in Harry “Houdini’s” eyes.

            “I know, Harry,” replied Remus, thickly swallowing. “We’ll talk soon. Get Neville to the hospital wing and call me later tonight. Give Sirius the rat. It’ll all work out.”

            The two said goodbye and the call ended.

            Beside him, Harry was casually checking his nailbeds. “It won’t work out.”

            “You don’t know that!”

            “Of course I do; Snape will show up, he and Sirius will snark at each other, Harry and his friends will blast Snape for insulting Sirius who now bears your mark of approval and Pettigrew will escape,” answered Harry, as though he was talking about the weather. “That’s the way it’ll go. Sirius will remain on the run until we catch Pettigrew next year. It was going to happen this way.”

            “It hasn’t happened yet!” bit back Remus, glaring at his friend. “You’re changing the timeline! What makes you think this won’t change?”

            Harry’s eyes darkened. “Experience.”

 

            Later that evening, an exhausted Remus came to see Harry past midnight in his Welsh home, only stopping in the Floo long enough to tell him Harry sent an owl, detailing that Pettigrew escaped and Sirius was on the run. Hermione and Harry used her time-turner to help Sirius escape, giving him Harry’s Chatter mirror to call Remus with later.

            Harry nodded, and closed the Floo connection. He didn’t have the heart to tear Remus down any further by telling him “I told you so.”

**

**Summer, 1994.**

 

            Remus and Jonathan met Sirius across from 12 Grimmauld Place a few weeks after the end of the Hogwarts school year. Harry had written Remus the night before, asking if he could “ask Mr. Houdini for another Chatter mirror,” due to giving his previous one to Sirius. Harry also mentioned that Neville had tickets with his Great Uncle Algie to attend the Quidditch World Cup in a few weeks, and asked Harry to join him with Hermione.

            Remus gave his approval, and Harry sent a custom-designed Chatter mirror to his mini-version personally with a typed letter as an early birthday present. The mini-Harry’s brief note to Remus, thanking him for forwarding his request to Harry Houdini, was the last contact the Marauder had with the teenager since. It was clear Harry was holding a grudge against Remus for withholding information on Sirius – especially the role of Sirius as his _godfather_ – from him.

            “Remus,” greeted Sirius carefully, under hooded eyes. “Who’s this?”

            “Sirius, meet Jonathan Randolf,” said Remus, motioning towards the young wizard, who gave a nod in reply. “He’s one of my employees at Cloak & Dagger. He also knows about your innocence.”

            Sirius remained guarded but accepted Remus’s word as they travelled back towards the Black London home.

            “We’ll need to go in quietly,” said Sirius, although both Remus and Jonathan knew about Mrs. Black. Harry readily shared his memories of the place with the two for this mission.

            The Black home was as dark and foreboding as Harry’s memories portrayed it and its name proclaimed. Sirius, grumbling, led them through the main hallway and towards the room Remus asked to see: the drawing room with the Black Family tapestry.

            The three men silently stood, looking at the large tapestry spilling from the ceiling to the floor and curling over it in spots. Sirius knelt and brushed tenderly against a blackened spot on the tapestry, where a line joined _Orion Black_ and _Walburga Black_. He traced it down to a faded red _Regulus A. Black_ , and where his name should be.

            “Please call him, Sirius,” asked Remus quietly, after a few minutes of silence.

            Sirius grumbled, stood on creaky knees and shouted, “KREACHER!”

            A pop signalled the house elf’s entrance into the room, where he paused upon seeing Sirius and his companions.

            “Nasty blood traitor returns! Mistress would be so horrified at his filthily friends,” the insane house elf began muttering, wringing his hands and glancing around the room with his beady eyes.

            “Kreacher,” stated Sirius, fighting to control old urges of anger and disgust at the house elf, “As your master, I am commanding you to listen to Remus Lupin and obey his every word. Do you understand?”

            Kreacher began spewing more abuse at the head of the Black family, but Remus interjected quickly. He knelt in front of the tiny house elf, shutting Kreacher up quickly as he did so.

            “Kreacher,” began Remus, quietly, “I know what happened to Regulus that night when he went with you and the Dark Lord to the cave.”

            Kreacher’s eyes locked on Remus, and the elf turned from a dark green hue to pasty celery. Jonathan watched from the doorway, ready to defend his friend and boss if the elf didn’t full listen. He needn’t worry.

            Remus had both Sirius’s and Kreacher’s attention as he continued. “Regulus was a very brave man, and he entrusted something to you, didn’t he? A locket?”

            As Remus spun the tale and won over Kreacher, Jonathan watched as Sirius Black cried for a brother he never got the chance to tell how proud he was of him.

**

**November 1, 1994**

 

            “Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire last night,” was the first thing Remus said as he entered the boardroom at Cloak & Dagger.

            He glanced at those sitting at the table: Sebastian, Edith, Yui, Justine, Camilla, Jonathan and Piers, then at Harry. None had looks of surprise and Remus knew he wasn’t surprised either.

            Harry sighed, tapping at the old edition of the _Daily Prophet_ on the table. The Dark Mark hanging above the Quidditch World Cup stadium flickered and hovered in an unseen wind, lopping continuously. “It seems Voldemort is back to his tricks and Pettigrew and Crouch are at his call.”

            “We knew this would happen, Harry,” said Sebastian, folding his hands on top of the table genially. “We have planned for this for quite some time.”

            Edith nodded from beside her co-worker. “Everything you’ve asked of us, we’ve done without question. We’ve helped you plan for this – from gathering the Horcruxes to creating the technology we need to be compatible with magic.”

            Camilla smiled gently. “Edith and Sebastian’s improved Wolfsbane has guaranteed the werewolves to be neutral at the very least in the upcoming war. We’ve had thousands of letters come in since we marketed the formula after our trials.”

            “And we’ve got the Ministry right where we want them,” added Justine, happily in her Australian accent, blue eyes bright. “We’re signed on for the Third Task. We’ll be exclusively broadcasting the final task of the tournament for the entire world to see. No matter what happens that night, Voldemort can’t escape the media.”

            Jonathan and Yui shared a smile. “We finally worked out the pinhole cameras and the communication earbuds. We tested it in the test run at Little Hangleton scenario and it went through smoothly. Everything worked according to our calculations.”

            “And I’ve got the Joe’s up and running at the crack of dawn, going over the various plans we came up with for the Third Task,” finished Piers shortly. “I’ll run them into the ground before we send them out in June.”

            Harry looked at his employees, his friends and those he shared his burden with. His emerald green eyes met theirs, then travelled to his werewolf friend, standing at the other end of the room and at the foot of the table.

            “We’re ready for this Harry,” said Remus quietly. “We’ve got the ring. The diary. The Cup of Hufflepuff. Slytherin’s locket. We’re targeting Voldemort and Nagini in June. All we need to do now is get Harry in for the ritual.”

            The ritual.

            Harry grimaced at the thought. While he went to face Voldemort as a martyr, as Dumbledore intended, he promised that _this_ version of himself would never have to feel like he was a sacrificial lamb for the slaughter. He would always have a choice. Facing Voldemort in the original timeline allowed the _Avada Kedavra_ to release the Horcrux that shared Harry’s body, but it was a risky gamble.

            So was the plan Piers came up with.

            When Justine and Jonathan were searching the world for more information on the spell that sent Harry to this alternate dimension, Piers was doing some quiet searching of his own. While Harry never completely knew what the man did for the South African government, Harry had an idea, as the man’s reflexes were as good as Moody’s and the dossier Harry had on Piers indicated he worked more along the lines of Harry’s previous job. His lowly position was a cover-up.

            It also meant that Piers had numerous friends who owed him favours. Favours he called in.

            And someone had the information Piers needed. Not only did they find the spell that sent Harry back in time, but the contact also had information on how to extract a soul from a body.

            It was dodgy, it was Dark magic, and so old that Piers’s contacted warned the man against trying it unless it was absolutely, save-the-world necessary.

            Piers said it was and the man agreed to perform the ritual.

            Harry sighed. “Then contact Harry, Remus, and pull him out of Hogwarts tonight. We’ll send the company Concord to Piers’s contact and have him complete the ritual as soon as he can.”

            “No need to send the jet to Mexico,” answered Piers. “I’ve had Javier in England since he came back with the information we needed. He’s currently happily vacationing with our werewolf friends at the Cornwall house.”

            Edith and Sebastian made startled noises at that, worried about the safety of their werewolves.

            Piers sent them a look. “I honestly don’t know which you’d have to be worried about, but let’s assume the werewolves can look after themselves and Javier is more than capable of handling them.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get this done with, shall we?”

**

            Camilla joined Remus in travelling to Hogwarts in order to pick up Harry. While they were gone, Piers retrieved Javier Morandez, his contact, and brought him to the Cloak & Dagger headquarters.

            “I like your company name,” was the first thing the short Mexican said in a thick accent. Harry expected him to be oily and feel dirty, but the man was rather pleasant and rather jolly. He wore washed out jeans and a comfortable looking button up with cowboy boots. Harry was certain he would mistake the man for a non-magical easily.

            “Thank you,” replied Harry automatically. “So what do we need to get you for this ritual? And why tonight for the ritual?”

            Javier produced a list from his pocket and passed it to a waiting Jonathan. “It is not much. Some purified water. Salt. A container.” The man eyed Harry speculatively. “Piers says you used iron containers in the past to hold the soul?”

            Harry nodded.

            “Good,” answered Javier. “Then all we need is the four symbols of our world: earth, fire, water and air. The subject of the ritual will be the soul.”

            “Why tonight?” asked Yui, echoing Harry as she watched Justine dart down the hall for the herbology wing for earth; Sebastian went off looking for water, and Edith began muttering about finding a lighter.

            Javier smiled thinly. “It’s the Day of the Dead. November 1st is also known as the _Día de los Inocentesi_ … the Day of the Innocents, or children. In our culture, we celebrate the dead by remembering the departed fondly on these days. Why should we not, on the Day of the Innocents, help protect a child from an evil soul inhabiting his body?”

            “Will the ritual work?” interjected Harry quietly.

            Javier paused. “I am not certain. I’ve read about the ritual succeeding before in the past… but things were different then. The Gods were remembered and the sacrifices were plenty. We had more reason to be thankful for our living relatives and more reason to fear and honour the dead through the unknown. We can hope.”

            Harry’s stomach tightened into knots. Hope, indeed!

 

            Remus and Camilla returned with the young Harry Potter with three hours to spare before the Day of the Innocents ended and the Day of the Dead officially began. While Harry Potter had no idea there was a piece of Voldemort’s soul holding onto his body, Harry did know that Remus was offering a way for his visions to end.

            After the Quidditch World Cup, Harry felt Remus had suffered enough from his grudge of withholding information and confessed to the werewolf that he had a strange dream about Voldemort a few weeks before the Cup.

            He described an old mansion located on top of a hill and overlooking a cemetery. He was floating along the scene, until he came upon an older man – not magical, he assured Remus – who was intrigued by the light in one of the mansion’s windows when the building was supposed to be empty.

            Harry followed along in the dream as the man explored the empty building until he reached a first-floor drawing room. A fire was going in the hearth and a short, rat-like man was kneeling in front of a battered armchair. Another figure, dressed in dark robes was speaking to someone in the chair.

            There was some dialogue and a large snake – then an _Avada Kedavra_. Harry knew that the man was dead.

            Remus, at the time, hung his head. Frank Bryce was as tied to the RiddleMansion as the Riddle family was… and as much as Voldemort was tied to the place.

            Instead, Remus said he would send out some ‘feelers’ about Harry’s visions and see if they could come up with a way to stop them, so that he didn’t feel incapacitated by them. The feeling of helplessness and despair was evident as Harry retold the story, aching to help the man but unable to.

            As such, Harry bolstered his courage. He was a Gryffindor! He was not afraid of a ritual that would end his visions. He trusted his Uncle Remus.

            It was Harry’s first time to Cloak & Dagger as well, so he was excited at the prospect of seeing his uncle’s workplace. Unfortunately, they arrived through an Apparition point rather than outside, but Harry was still in awe as armed guards patted Remus, Camilla and Harry down and searched them for tracking spells and devices.

            They found three, all with Dumbledore’s signature on it.

            They were quickly disposed of and Remus led his young charge through the corridors and then towards the gym where the Joe’s trained. The room was similar to that of the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, able to mimic and become whatever training scenario the Joe’s needed.

            In this case, they needed a ritual room.

            Yet, when Remus and Harry arrived, it was like nothing Remus had ever seen. He expected a ritual room to be cold and hard, filled with heavy rock and metal composites. Instead, the training room was a barren desert, with a few shrubs and cactus here or there, barely littering the eerie landscape.

            The elder Harry was standing a bit away, talking with Piers and another man Remus assumed was going to lead the ritual.

            “Stay here,” he told Harry, walking off towards the men.

            “Hello Remus,” said Harry the elder as the werewolf was within hearing distance. “No problems at Hogwarts?”

            “A few tracking spells but nothing our Joe’s couldn’t handle,” answered Remus tightly. He glanced at the unknown man. “Remus Lupin. I’m Harry’s guardian.”

            The man nodded politely. “I am Javier Morandez. I will do the ritual. Is your Harry ready?”

            Remus licked his lips. “Yes.”

            Javier smiled gently. “Good. Let us begin. Mr. Houdini, does your ceiling open to the sky? It would help to be open to nature for this ritual.”

            Harry nodded and glanced at Piers, who turned and waved up at the catwalk above the training area. Jonathan, who was wearing the communication earbud he and Justine designed, waved back at hearing the suggestion. Moments later, the roof began to pull back, opening from the middle.

            “I will need room for this,” explained Javier. “Would you mind waiting up there with the others, Mr. Lupin? Mr. Houdini?”

            “Of course,” agreed Harry quickly, grabbing Remus’s sleeve. Turning to the werewolf, he said quietly, “We’ve done all we can. Piers vouches for this man. We now leave everything in his hands.”

            Remus wasn’t happy with that, but followed Harry out of the training area with Piers and towards a set of nearby stairs, which would take them to the catwalk. Once there, Remus and Harry joined Jonathan, Justine, Sebastian, Edith, Camilla and Yui. Piers had left to collect the things Javier needed for the ritual, which the others had brought down from their departments and left in convenient bags by the training room entrance.

            The Cloak & Dagger employees and owners watched as Javier approached a rather fidgety Harry, speaking to him quietly. None thought to give Javier an earbud in case anything went wrong, but whatever the man was saying was enough to calm Harry Potter.

            When Harry nodded, Javier clasped him on the shoulder and turned to wave at Piers. The South African handed Javier several small bags containing the pieces he asked for, and then stepped back. Moments later, he joined the others on the catwalk.

            Silently, they watched as Javier directed Harry to stand in a cleared, sandy area of the desert scenario the room created. A few words later, Harry was lying down in the sand, squirming as he tried to get comfortable.

Using salt, Javier created a circle around the teenager. He said something else, but instead of verbally responding, Harry held up a hand and made a thumb’s up sign. Remus chuckled.

Javier went to the bags and extracted a bowl. He placed it at Harry’s right, near his hand, if it were extended at shoulder height. Using a lighter Justine found him, he ignited the coals in the bowl. Across, at Harry’s left, he placed a bowl and poured water from the metal container. At Harry’s feet, he placed a clump of earth from the Herbology department.

“Fire to bind, water to soothe, earth to ground, and air to cleanse,” intoned Javier in a clear, loud voice. He turned and retrieved the last item from the bags: an iron container, etched with protective runes.

“A container of the earth, forged in fire, cooled in water, and bound by air to capture and contain the soul,” the Mexican continued. He placed it at Harry’s head. Then, as he slowly began to walk around Harry’s prone body, he began to speak.

It didn’t sound like Spanish. It didn’t sound like Latin. The words pouring out of his mouth was something Harry had never heard before but once before—the night Ginny cursed him back in time.

The language was dirty, the accent heavy on Javier’s tongue as he spoke. In the salt circle, the young, teenaged Harry began to tremor. Then, he began to shake and those shakes turned into writhing. His hands dug into the soft sand, clenching against some unseen force and his back bowed, lifting him from the ground.

Javier continued to speak, walking around the teen, never breaking in his voice. Yet, Harry could see sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and drip down onto his shirt. Whatever hold Voldemort’s Horcrux had in the teenager, it was tight.

Slowly, as the minutes bled together and midnight approached, an inky black mass began to creep out of Harry’s lightning bolt scar. It was slow, resisting the call and chant of Javier, but the Mexican persisted.

The inky black mass began to form and join, parts and pieces of it merging until it became a ghastly skull, teeth chattering in anger and eye sockets burning with black fire.

The bowl of water churned and the fire across flickered and nearly died out; but Javier gave one last, mighty shout and the inky spirit was forced upwards and into the container. The iron lid slammed shut and tightly latched.

Javier slumped, spent, and Harry calmed.

All was silent on the catwalk, until Remus turned and raced down the stairs, the others footsteps behind. The werewolf raced across the uneven sand, his steps faltering here and there, but he skidded to a stop and slid down next to Harry, breaking the salt circle.

A shaky head reached out to touch the teen, but retreated briefly. He tried again and this time smoothed back Harry’s damp black hair. The scar that plagued Harry from October 31st, 1981 was faded, a dull red that was easing off to a shade lighter than Harry’s natural colouring.

The teen was breathing evenly, deep asleep. Across, being checked by Harry Houdini and Piers, was Javier, watching Remus with dark, steady eyes. “He will live,” the Mexican said softly, smiling at Remus. “The ritual worked, and your Harry Potter lives.”

“Thank you,” murmured Remus, reaching and gathering Harry into his arms. “Thank you.”

**

**The Third Task. June 24, 1995.**

 

            **

**The Third Task. June 24, 1995.**

 

            Harry had to swing some serious weight to convince Fudge that he should be allowed at the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament, but after much wheedling and some threats, Fudge agreed. Although Harry was planning on staying as far away as he could from the younger version of himself, he felt that there was enough of a difference now that the two were only the same through their DNA.

            That being said, Harry waited patiently in the Champions tent as Ludo Bagman went over the rules for the maze. Harry distinctly remembered being outside for the rules and cannon blast, but this did give more privacy and kept the champions in anticipation.

            “…now, before we finish, someone would like to speak to all of you,” finished Bagman, sounding pleased. Harry bit back a smile.

            “Who?” questioned Fleur in a light, French accent.

            “Mr. Houdini, the CEO of Cloak & Dagger,” answered Bagman, cheerily. “He is a major sponsor in the Tournament. It is only natural he would like to see the Champions before the Final Task.”

            “Vot vor?” grumbled Krum, but Bagman ignored him. Instead, the man stuck his head out of the back of the tent, spotted Remus and Harry standing there patiently, and beckoned them in.

            “Mr. Houdini, Mr. Lupin, so pleased to see you here,” the man gushed. “Allow me to introduce our four Champions: Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons…”

            The French girl who would grow up to marry Bill Weasley gave a small curtsey and smile. Harry leaned over her extended hand and kissed it.

            “ _Bonjour_ , Mademoiselle,” the time travelled smiled. He straightened and reached into his suit pocket for the small velvet case he knew was located there. He found the one with the embossed Beauxbatons crest in silver on the outside and held it out for the French girl to take.

            Fleur tittered, opening the case. “Oh!” she gasped.

            By this time, Harry Houdini had moved on to Krum, shaken his head and offered him the Drumstrang case.

            Remus presented Harry and Cedric with theirs.

            “What are these for?” asked Cedric, looking down at the Huflepuff crest pin that he received.

            “Goodwill,” replied Harry with a tight smile. “I couldn’t make a Hogwarts crest for two Hogwarts champions, but I figured house affiliation would suffice.” Turning to Fleur and Viktor, he handed two small velvet boxes, each with a Beauxbatons and Durmstrang crest pin.

            Harry Potter took his and eagerly affixed it onto his TriWizard Tournament standard uniform/robes.

            “Thanks Mr. Houdini, sir,” said Harry Potter, smiling widely.

            A tired, older Harry smiled tightly back at his younger self, wondering how the boy and those around could not notice the similarities. _Perhaps_ , thought Harry, _he changed too much in the decade he’d been in this dimension_.

Nodding, Harry accepted the sincere thanks from the other champions and left the tent, giving Remus a quick moment with the younger Potter and a few words of encouragement for all the champions.

Remus parted the TriWizard tent, stepping into the fading light of a setting sun. Harry was looking up at the quickly darkening sky, frowning.

“Are you ready?” asked Remus quietly. “It’ll only be a few hours of wait until…”

“I know,” replied Harry softly. “And I wasn’t ready the first time this happened. But I’ll be damned if I let Potter go through this. I’ll be ready, Remus.”

Remus nodded, and together the two left the transformed Quidditch pitch, heading towards Hogsmeade where they would Apparate back to Cloak & Dagger.

Just after they passed through the gates, Harry stopped Remus with a hand on his arm. The werewolf turned to his friend questioningly.

“I made my will, Remus,” said Harry, firmly. “I want you to know that. I’ve prepared for this moment and whether or not I die, I still want you and mini-me to have everything.”

“You’re not going to die,” argued Remus, rather weakly. The inner wolf in him had been restless the past month, causing stomach ulcers and heartburn. Remus knew something was up; he had a bad feeling about tonight.

Harry smiled gently, the silver in his hair by the temples gleaming in the dusk. “I’ve escaped death once before, Remus. I can’t cheat him a second time.”

“You’re the Master of Death,” argued Remus back, hissing the title. “Of _course_ you can cheat death!”

Harry looked up just as the last rays of the sun dipped beyond the horizon. The moon was slowly appearing, the sun’s rays bouncing off the rock and lighting it up in the darkened sky. The sun’s rays, however, tinged it a blood red.

“I’m not going to cheat this time, Remus. Not anymore,” declared Harry firmly, and then Apparated away.

Remus closed his eyes in defeat. When he opened them, they were filled with determination. He may not be able to save Harry Houdini, but he wasn’t going to fail his best friends’ child.

He, too, Apparated away quietly in the night, just as cheers went up in the stadium behind him at Hogwarts’ Quidditch pitch—the third task of the TriWizard tournament had begun.

**

            Harry Potter was wondering why, every time he came across a difficult task that he managed to defeat, the crowd roared its approval. It took him nearly half an hour into the task to realise that Prestige Studios was contracted to film the final task and that the pins that Mr. Houdini actually gave the champions were mini cameras! High above him, the crowd was seeing everything as Harry was seeing it!

            This meant they were also seeing Cedric, Fleur and Krum’s advancement. Harry, spurned on by this, was turning the corner of the maze cautiously—who knew what was around the corner?

            Nothing, it turned out; just several options for him to take. As Harry paused and considered which route to take, he heard a scream and the crowd jeer, voices meshing as they shouted out in fear and anger.

             Another noise caught Harry’s attention, causing him to look up. Fizzing red sparks blew and wavered in the evening sky, indicating that one of the champions needed to be rescued. Judging from the scream, it was Fleur.

            Swallowing a heavy dose of fear, Harry pushed through a random direction. He immediately regretted it as he swerved into the path of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewt, dodging the fire that propelled it in his general direction.

            Harry rolled, hurting his shoulder against pebbles and stones on the maze floor; the Skrewt’s stinger, similar to that of a scorpion’s, jabbed forward and nearly caught Harry’s leg. Breathing heavily, Harry rolled out of the way quickly, but not quickly enough for the second attack, which sliced his leg as he rolled.

            His trousers were ripped, blood seeping out quickly along the lengthy gash. Pain exploded as Harry clutched at his leg, hissing. He wasn’t sure if he could get up and dodge again.

            A snort and warm huffing had Harry look up. The Skrewt was hovering above him, its stinger ready to pierce him a third—and final—time. It was in that moment Harry was transported back to Hagrid’s class, where he said the Skrewt’s defences were laid bare by their soft underside.

            Somersaulting forward in a roll, Harry ignored the chafe of dirt getting into his bleeding cut and lay flat on his back under the Skrewt.

            “ _Impedimenta_!” shouted Harry. The Skrewt above him wavered and then held, unable to move. Harry, on the other hand, scampered out of the clearing as quickly as his injured leg could carry him—and nearly ploughed into Viktor Krum, his ears ringing from the background noise of the crowd and the screams.

            It only took him a moment to realise who was screaming—Cedric Diggory was on the ground, twitching in the dirt under the Cruciatus curse as Krum stood above him, wand held out.

            Surprised, but with his quick reflexes, Harry stunned Krum. The Bulgarian teen fell face-first into the dirt, the glassy look in his eyes disappearing.

            “Are you okay?” asked Harry, helping Cedric to his feet. The older Hufflepuff breathed heavily for a few moments, looking pale and shaking as his nerves adjusted.

            “I… I will be,” the older wizard said, glancing down in disgust at Krum.

            “He didn’t mean it,” argued Harry, following Cedric’s train of thought. “He wasn’t in control. Didn’t you see his eyes? He was under the Imperius.”

            Cedric scrunched his face up, not liking the answer, but agreed. Instead, he sent up a flare of red sparks.

            “Who would cast the Imperius on him?” asked Cedric, glancing down at the Quidditch star’s limpid form. A quick glance at the young Gryffindor had Cedric discounting Harry—he was bleeding heavily from a leg wound, pale with dark circles under his eyes and blood and grime smeared around one side of his face.

            “I dunno,” replied Harry quietly. “But someone did.”

            The two looked in opposite directions, shivering and wondering what to do next.

            “Well…” began Cedric, scratching his neck hesitantly. “I was going to go this way…”

            Harry nodded, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction. “I was going this way…”

            Together, they both looked at Krum, again, and Harry blurted out, “How about we stay together?”

            A sheepish and slightly hysterical laugh pushed from Cedric’s mouth as he agreed quickly, “Okay! That sounds good.”

            Both looked at each other and began slowly in the direction Cedric wanted to go. They didn’t encounter anything, and after ten minutes finally made a right turn into a clearing. The TriWizard cup stood on a pedestal.

            The two wizards stopped, warily looking at the shiny cup.

            “Take it, Cedric,” began Harry. “You’re the real Hogwarts champion.”

            Cedric shook his head. “No, you’ve done way more than I have. It should be yours.”

            The shared a grin and realised the stupidity of their arguments.

            “How about together?” asked Harry. “That way it’ll still be a Hogwarts win.”

            Cedric smiled. “I think that sounds good.”

            The two turned to face the pedestal when a clicking noise caught their attention. Harry turned partway, and saw the huge pinches begin to descend.

            “ _Reducto_!”

            Harry leaped out of the way, closer to the cup, as Cedric had his wand out and sent several quick blasts from his wand, hoping to drive the large spider away from them.

            Rising to his feet, Harry added to Cedric’s spell fire, even if his repertoire of spell knowledge wasn’t nearly as large as the other boy’s. They slowly drove the Acromantula away from the cup and its clearing, but it hovered just around the large maze greenery, waiting for a lapse from Cedric or Harry.

            The two backed up slowly, towards the cup, as the spider moved forward, matching their pace.

            “On three?” mumbled Harry, glancing briefly behind him at the cup.

            “On three,” agreed Cedric. They were steps away.

            Harry stowed his wand at the same time as Cedric; the elder boy latched onto Harry’s robes and Harry grabbed the cup as the Acromantula surged forward—but they were gone in a swirl of light and the familiar feel of a Port-Key.

            Seconds later they were deposited onto the hard ground; silence overcame them.

            Harry looked up, frowning from his position, on his belly. He was surrounded by large block of rock and marble, some standing straight and tall and others leaning precariously or chipped. The stone slabs on the ground were engraved and etched with words and designs, while others were broken into pieces or falling into hallowed out, leaving rectangular holes in the ground.

Cedric was a few feet away, on his back and moaning. One hand was behind his head, rubbing it achingly.

            “Alright?” asked Harry, glancing around, squinting behind his smudged and dirtied glasses.

            Cedric replied, “I’m fine,” as he rose to his feet. He too, was looking around.

            Harry bit his lip as his eyes focused. The vague shapes around him were tombstones.

            Harry’s breath caught. Ever since his visit to Cloak & Dagger, Harry did not have visions anymore. One of the first, though, was of the graveyard he and Cedric were standing in.

            “Wands out, you reckon?” asked Cedric, his voice tense.

            Harry nodded and slipped his wand, just as Cedric did his—but his eyes were focused on something else.

            A shape emerged from the darkness, small and huddled. It looked like it was cradling something, protecting something in its arms as the figured carefully made its way towards the two students.

            The figure stopped, as though it was watching the two teens. Harry wanted to scream at Cedric to run—he was getting an ill feeling that began in the pit of his stomach and was working its way up to his throat, catching his warnings and efficiently muting him.

            “Kill the spare,” a high-pitched voice emerged from the figure’s arms.

            The figure raised an arm. A wand with a glowing tip lit the figure’s face up, revealing Peter Pettigrew.

            Harry snarled in anger, but froze as his parents’ betrayer shouted: “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

            The light erupted from his wand, not aimed at Harry, but the handsome Hufflepuff a few feet to his left.

            Horror enveloped Harry, but just as the curse neared its target, something caught the Hufflepuff’s robes and _yanked_ him backwards just as the curse sailed by. From Harry’s point of view, the curse missed but Cedric was lying flat on the ground, seemingly dead from the spell.

            Yet…

            His chest was moving up and down, and a trickle of blood slowly oozed out from under him, indicating he cracked his head on the fall down.

            Harry turned back to Wormtail, who smirked before aiming his wand at the Boy Who Lived. The man shouted, _“Stupefy!”_ and Harry sank into unconsciousness.

**

            Harry, Remus, Piers and Quentin were watching the third task from four monitors in their security vans, parked at the bottom of the graveyard in Little Hangleton. They were close enough to the mansion to be in contact with the Joe’s who were going in to capture Nagini, but they were, more importantly, closer to the graveyard where Harry and Cedric would be transported to soon.

            The men were watching tensely. Harry didn’t seem to realise that his pin was actually a camera, capturing his journey through the maze in first-person perspective. Fleur and Krum figured it out immediately after their first encounter in the maze as the crowd reacted to their moves; Cedric took some time but shrugged it off and continued with his plan.

            The men watched on their screens as Krum, under the Imperius curse, attacked Fleur. The half-Veela witch put up quite a fight, screaming French obscenities at the Bulgarian, before he hit her with a _stupefy_ —but only after hearing her scream for a few moments under the Cruciatus. Whoever was controlling him was kind enough to send up red sparks, though.

            The remaining three contestants lulled between challenges. Harry remembered enough of what he went through the first time to ignore what was occurring and begin gearing up. He was in his Hit Wizard uniform, wearing the accessories and weapons he had with him the night Ginny tried to send him back in time to relive his life at the Dursleys and the second Blood War.

            He was tightening the straps to his Kevlar vest when Cedric began screaming. He glanced up to see Krum standing over the twitching boy, and from Cedric’s camera angle, saw Harry appear around the maze hedge.

            There were three views of the same scene, and then time and history changed: Harry Potter and Cedric teamed up.

            “We split up,” said Harry said, frowning. “I went to see the sphinx and had to solve a riddle. Met the Acromantula and then Cedric and I made a mad-dash to the cup.”

            The others frowned.

            “Let’s go, boys,” said Quentin into his communicator. “I want everyone into position in three minutes.”

            There was some noise as the Joe’s in the other security vans around them opened their doors and hatches, climbing out and crunching the soil and gravel beneath their feet. Their weight and the added weight of their armour made their steps heavier, but the Joe’s knew how to handle this moment. After all, they had been training for it specifically for the past three years.

            Harry finished tightening his Kevlar straps and then slipped his Holly and Phoenix wand into one loophole; the Elder wand was hidden on a wand holster. His gun rested comfortably at his back; spare bullet casings and his boot dagger were primed and ready to go.

            Remus nodded at Piers, following Harry out of the van and into the dark. Piers was going to coordinate the two attacks at the same time; the Joe’s were split between the attack group on the mansion, where Nagini was resting and waiting. Heat seeking goggles were adapted for the mission.

            The rest were going into their positions with Harry, Remus and Quentin, to face Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

            “Ready?” asked Harry, receiving nods from the Joe’s. Harry’s trained eye searched every face he could see. He then nodded and strode towards the graveyard, frowning as he heard Piers’ voice in his ear.

            “Potter and Diggory are at the cup,” he said. The Joe’s were all on the same frequency, able to hear Piers, while the two attach teams were on a different sending frequency so their voices and words would not overlay each other.

            “I estimate you have about five minutes before Voldemort and Pettigrew make a move at the graves,” the man continued.

            Harry nodded and with a few hand gestures, a group of six Joe’s broke from the contingent and made their way around the far end of the graveyard and its hill. Their task was Cedric Diggory.

            Harry and the other Joe’s slowly moved up the hill, from behind the cauldron and where most of the mausoleums were, giving them cover. A few hid behind larger tombstones and statues.

            “Potter and Diggory are gone!” snapped out Piers, just as Harry settled into position near where he remembered the cauldron to be, and behind a large tombstone.

            A muffled _pop_ caught the Joe’s attention and they tensed. Someone moaned, and after a few moments of silence, a young teen’s voice queried, “Alright?”

            A few short seconds later, a deeper voice answered. “I’m fine.”

            Harry sighed in relief and worry. Harry and Cedric arrived safely, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

            “Team A, target Diggory. Use the tug and get him to the ground at the sign of AK,” instructed Piers from their earbuds. “Team B and Houdini are to engage Voldemort and his Death Eaters, only after he has given Potter his wand back. Repeat: engage Voldemort and his Death Eaters _after_ Potter has his wand back. Team C is now in the Riddle mansion.”

            A shrill voice shouted out the Killing curse in the dark night, causing those around Harry to tense.

            A brief crackle and then Piers’ voice said, “Team A has Diggory and he is unharmed. Repeat: the boy is unharmed.”

            Harry let out an inaudible sigh and peaked around the mausoleum, just in time to see Pettigrew stupefy Harry and levitate him towards the tombstone that he knew to be the elder Tom Riddle’s. Harry was revived after Pettigrew tied him to the grave. The ritual began.

            A sparkle of dust in the air from the grave below Harry Potter indicated the bone of Riddle, senior; a flick from Pettigrew’s wand had it deposited in the large cauldron. Pettigrew turned his knife towards Harry, who tensed and struggled against his bonds as the man dug the knife into his uninjured arm, cutting it and collecting the blood.

            After that was added to the cauldron, Harry Potter watched in morbid fascination as Pettigrew cut off his hand to add to the ritual. The Voldemort-baby was lowered into the cauldron, which began spitting, and frothing and hissing.

            From his position, Harry signalled the Joe’s to get ready. Piers crackled into his earbud again: “Update: Team C has located Nagini and is currently engaged in battle. Team B is reviving Diggory.”

            As Piers finished his report, the cauldron exploded and steam swirled around where the cauldron used to be, creating a thick smoke. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the fog, unnaturally pale and naked.

            “Robe me,” the high voice commanded.

            Lord Voldemort had returned.

**

            Harry Potter was scared. The man who murdered his parents was standing before him, instructing Wormtail to give him back his wand so that they could properly duel. Harry was sure that the only thing he wanted to do was turn tail back to Cedric and the cup, hoping it would take them back to Hogwarts.

            As Voldemort began the long speech about Harry and their previous ‘meetings’, Harry glanced back at where Cedric was lying on his back—only to see that the Hufflepuff was gone!

            Panic engulfed Harry as thoughts began piling on one another in his head. Had Cedric left him? Were there Death Eaters in the forest and the graveyard, waiting to capture him if he ran away? Did they catch Cedric? Was Cedric hiding, waiting to jump out and help Harry?

            Eventually, black clouds swirled into existence and tiny _pop_ s of Apparition rang in Harry’s ears, signalling the Death Eaters. Voldemort postured to them, calling them by name, torturing one here or there if they spoke out of turn.

            Finally, Wormtail returned Harry’s wand. Harry stared down at it, wondering what his first move should be.

            “Surely Dumbledore taught you the proper etiquette of a wizards’ duel, Harry?” simpered Voldemort, teasingly. “First, we bow.”

            When Harry did not, Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed and his wand flicked—a crushing force began pushing at Harry’s back, urging him to bend in a low, seemingly courtly bow.

            Gritting his teeth, Harry did so, pushing up against the force. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the force disappeared and Harry stood straight, eyes firmly planted on the Dark Lord.

            “And now… we begin,” smiled Voldemort, opening his mouth to begin a curse.

            Then all hell broke loose.

            A force slammed into Harry, sending him sprawling across the ground, far away from Voldemort and the Death Eaters, who were shouting and screaming in the background.

            Harry looked up from his back and saw Remus above him.

            “Remus? What--?” began Harry, but his honorary uncle shook his head.

            Remus dragged Harry away, pulling him from the fight and off near a cluster of tall standing tombstones. There, surrounded by six men in black, was Cedric, rubbing at the side of his head.

            “Cedric!” gapped Harry, woozy in relief and from blood loss.

            Cedric looked up at his name and smiled.

            “Clark, Higgins, Harry’s lost a lot of blood. Check him out,” instructed Remus in a tone of voice that Harry had never heard before.

            Looking up at his honorary uncle, Harry saw something change in the kind, gentle werewolf that he affectionately knew as ‘Uncle Remus’ to the fierce and strong werewolf his friends knew when he was in his prime. Harry couldn’t focus, though, and his eyes kept drifting to Voldemort and a man who was standing proud and defiant in front of him.

            Distantly, he could hear Remus shouting at one of the men next to him, over the noise of spellfire and shouts of injured Death Eaters and the men in black.

            “— _get them to headquarters, Quentin_!”

            A man in all black nodded, leaning over Harry. Quentin reached down and ripped off Harry’s Hogwarts pin, just as another black-clothed man did the same to a startled Cedric.

            Remus had turned back to the battle, and Harry did too, ignoring the sting of the pin ripping his robes and cutting briefly into his skin; the antiseptic on his leg cut, or the burn from the ritual cut on his arm.

            There, he saw a tall man, standing firm in front of Voldemort, whose mouth had dropped open briefly in surprise, before rage overtook his features.

            “ _JAMES POTTER_!” he snarled, causing Harry’s heart to skip a beat.

 _Dad?_ He thought dizzyingly, the world tilting off to the side. Seeing Harry beginning to falter, Quentin clasped Harry’s uninjured arm. Harry felt the nauseating tug of a Port-Key, but before he left, he saw something that made his heart leap into his throat and burn the image into his mind forever.

Voldemort swung his wand arm out in an arc, a violent green light erupting from it as the Killing curse cut through the air in dizzying speeds.

            The man didn’t move as the Killing curse struck him—instead, Harry saw, the man’s wand was out and resting comfortably in his hand and the killing curse was ferociously fighting against the orange spell from the man’s wand.

            Yet, it wasn’t the wands and their spells that had Harry fixating on the man; instead, he focused on the way the spells lit up his face. Harry greedily drank the man’s features in, memorizing his father’s face.

            He had a strong jaw and blunt chin, thin lips set into a firm line, light reflecting off his glasses and flyaway black hair, just like everyone said James Potter looked like. But that’s when Harry noticed something off: he had brilliant emerald eyes behind his glasses.

And a faint, but visible, lightening bolt scar on his forehead.

**

TBC…


	5. Part Five

Greater Than, Lesser Be

Kneazle

**

PART FIVE

**

 **Malvolio** : …be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em.

\- _Twelfth Night, Act 2, scene 5_

**

**June 24, 1995. Little Hangleton.**

 

            As the after image of the bright green _Avada_ _Kedavra_ curse faded, Harry stood unharmed and tall, looking directly into Voldemort’s red eyes.

            There was silence between the two, despite the noise around them. Harry’s Joe’s were taking down the Death Eaters painfully and quickly, using plastic tie-wraps instead of standardised rope to keep them from slicing through. None of the Death Eaters had ever accounted the tie-wraps before, and the tight cinching of the plastic aided Harry’s Joes.

            The two spells from Voldemort and Harry had briefly collided and began to activate _Priori Incantatem_ , but Harry broke the spell quickly. He wanted to save that for later.

            “James Potter,” hissed Voldemort, his eyes narrowed in anger and thought.

            Harry, liking the idea that Voldemort thought he was his father and not actually Harry Potter, tipped his head in acknowledgement, gripping his wand’s handle tightly. _Let Voldemort think his_ Avada Kedavra _failed that night,_ thought Harry vindictively, a small smirk on his face.

            It angered Voldemort even more; with a slash, the Dark Lord shouted, “ _Fiendefyre_!” and a burst of molten, bright white fire erupted from his wand in the shape of a basilisk, aimed directly at Harry.

            Harry didn’t move.

            Before he transported to this reality, he was an assassin, a hitwizard. His job was to take down desperate, brilliant men and women for his employer. He met those who were as pure as fallen snow but made the wrong enemies and he had met those who were darker than obsidian. Fiendefyre, Avada Kedavra, intestine bursting curses, blinding curses, summoning Inferi – he’d dealt with them all.

Voldemort wasn’t the worst out there, but don’t tell him that – Harry met a Dark Wizard when on assignment in Laos that made Voldemort seem like child’s play and he tested Harry’s abilities. It took several weeks of intense recuperation at St. Mungo’s upon Harry’s return to the UK, but Harry still came out the victor and the Dark Wizard was in pieces.

A little Fiendefyre never hurt someone who knew what they were doing, after all… Harry responded with a slash from his wand as well, ignoring the rushing heat from the basilisk and the shrieks from the Death Eaters and GI Joe’s around him. Casting a non-verbal spell he learned in Norway, a burst of icy water erupted from his wand, changing into the shape of a phoenix. The two creatures rushed towards each other, colliding in a spectacular _hiss_.

As the water and fire met, steam burst from the middle and quickly spread out, thickly coating the graveyard. It was impossible to see your hand in front of your face and Harry used the steam as a cover to creep from his position a few feet to the left, closer to where the younger Harry was tied to the gravestone.

Crouching near the ground, Harry waited quietly and patiently as Voldemort lost his patience and waved a hand to disperse the steam on his end. The shadowy outline of his sweeping figure began to materialise in the steam, gaining a solid form as the Dark Lord stalked forward.

“Hiding, are we, James?” questioned the Dark Lord in his sibilant tones. “That’s not very _Gryffindor_ of you.”

Once upon a time, saying ‘Gryffindor’ in the insulting tones Voldemort used would’ve got Harry’s back up; he was older now. Wiser. _Stronger_.

Once Voldemort stalked past him by only a few steps, Harry sprung out from behind, thinking¸ _reducto_!

The red-tinged curse sped towards the Dark Lord; but Tom Riddle wasn’t one of the smartest graduates from Hogwarts for a reason—he stepped out of the way of the spell, but only just. Part of the spell caught him in his right hand, shattering the bones.

The left-handed Dark Lord didn’t waste time in retaliation. Curse after curse burst from his wand, lighting the remaining steam up with flashes of multicoloured spells. Harry’s instinct was to dodge all over the place and wear himself out, but his hitwizard training told him to stand his ground and move his body within a small sphere.

The curses sailed by; Harry concentrated on sending spells back. He barely noticed a cutting curse graze his cheek, or the stinging pain that came with it as the skin on his cheekbone split open and blood seeped down into his collar. He didn’t notice the agonising throb of pain as a bone-shattering curse hit his collarbone; but he did notice his cutting curse strike Voldemort’s neck, grazing and causing blood to spurt out. Harry did notice the way his borderline Dark lung-cursing curse caused Voldemort to stumble back.

Harry ducked under an _Avada Kedavra_ , rolled through the dirt and came up only a few feet away from Voldemort. A quick sweep of his right leg against Voldemort’s had the Dark Lord stumbling to the ground in surprise.

Harry jumped up and began the incantation to cut the airflow off in his enemy. Unfortunately, Voldemort recovered quickly and hit Harry.

“ _Crucio_!”

Harry dropped to his knees, clutching the soft earth with one hand while the other pressed into his chest, the pain grounding him from falling over and collapsing. However many times he came up the Cruciatus curse, it never prepared you for it happening again.

“Not so high and mighty, now?” asked Voldemort, moving closer to Harry. “And who would think that the great James Potter would lower himself to using Dark magic to battle me?”

Harry didn’t bother replying, gritting his teeth under a fresh wave of nauseating pain from the curse. Thousands of blindingly hot knives stabbed him all over his body, his nerves overworked and stimulated, sending wave upon wave of signals to his brain. Voldemort only needed to move a few steps closer…

“You, who defied me three times,” continued Voldemort, only a foot or two away now, “Who left his wife to die at my hands, who left his son to be raised with despicable _Muggles_ … what happened to the great James Potter now, lying at my feet?”

Somewhere, a tinny voice scratched into Harry’s ear, stating, “Team C has destroyed Nagini. Repeat: Team C has destroyed Nagini.”

_The horcruxes were all gone… Voldemort was mortal…_

“I’d say he won,” ground out Harry guttery, looking up at the Dark Lord and shouting his signature spell. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

Voldemort’s eyes widened and he retaliated quickly, shouting, “ _Avada Kedavra_!” but it wasn’t enough.

The two spells collided together, creating a blinding white spark of energy in the middle, which grew to the size of a small golf ball. Harry rose to his feet, willing that ball of energy to move closer to Voldemort’s wand.

It wasn’t easy. The last time Harry did this he was fourteen and scared out of his wits, only knowing that he had to win. This time, Harry did not have the same feelings but he had the same drive: he had to win.

Slowly the ball grew in size as both struggled to contain the influx of power that two phoenix feathers in brother wands could generate. The sphere grew in size again, inching slowly towards Harry’s wand, causing Voldemort’s lipless mouth to smirk in delight.

The smirk disappeared as Harry furrowed his brow and with a snarl, sent the volleyball-sized gathering of energy back to Voldemort in a quick burst. The energy slammed into the Dark Lord’s wand, uncaring of the wizard’s shout of “ _NO!_ ”

The two connected wands began to buck and spark in Harry and Voldemort’s hands, yet it was Voldemort who looked at his wand in growing horror. The wailing of a phoenix echoed in the graveyard, making Voldemort’s blood-red eyes widen further.

 _Don’t break the connection, Harry,_ stated a melodious voice, whispering the instruction in Harry’s ear.

 _I know,_ the time-traveller replied.

A pale figure of a tall, balding man with a walking stick emerged from the crackling energy attached to Voldemort’s wand, looking around the graveyard in morbid fascination; he recognised where he was.

“He was a real wizard, then?” the man questioned, and Harry felt his lips twist up into a small, sad smile as Frank Bryce stared at Voldemort. Harry had tried… he tried to save him… “Killed me, that one did… you fight him, sir…”

A woman’s head burst from the sparkling energy attached to Voldemort’s wand and Harry knew it was Bertha Jorkins, the poor witch who lost her mind under Voldemort’s Legimency attacks.

“Don’t let go now!” she called, “Don’t let him get to you, Potter! Don’t let go!”

 _Strange_ , thought Harry, _did they know who he was?_ The game would be up soon enough as his mother, father would emerge from the wand, and there was no Cedric Diggory this time…

Lily Potter emerged from the wand, ignoring Voldemort’s sputtering and fear-drenched face as his wand and Harry’s trembled and buckled under the strain of holding the connection. The red-haired woman walked towards her son, looking at him carefully from head to toe. Was she disappointed in the way Harry led his life…? In the decisions he made…?

“Your father is coming,” she whispered, her voice so low that it could not be heard outside of the small area around Harry. The crackling of energy sparks and spellfire drowned out anything else. “He wants to see you… but Voldemort will know what is happening, even if he doesn’t understand it… it will be alright, Harry… just hold on a little longer.”

And there he was, a tall man with untidy hair fell from Voldemort’s wand to the ground, straightened up and pushed his glasses further up his nose like Harry would do. Voldemort’s eyes went from round, wide ones to narrowed slits immediately as they darted from James Potter to the tall man fighting him.

“You must break the connection, Harry,” said James quietly, staring into his son’s eyes. “We will linger only for moments, but we will give you the time you need.”

“No,” answered Harry, gritted his teeth as he physically had to wrench up the wand to keep it in place—Voldemort struggled to control the connection at his head. “I know what I need to do. He needs to die. The horcruxes are gone.”

James and Lily Potter shared a look between the two, something so familiar to Harry that an ache started in the pit of his stomach. They were echoes of the parents he never had the chance to know… but the opportunity to see a conversation in a glance, just like Molly and Arthur, like Remus and Tonks… Harry ached once more for the things he never had.

“Very well,” said James finally. “We will give you the time you need. End this tonight, Harry. End it.”

Harry nodded and turned his attention to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was scheming, planning his way out of the connection but Harry had something else in mind. The wand’s bucked some more, violently now. The connection was becoming unstable.

“Do it now, Harry! _Now_! Be ready!” cried Lily Potter, and the echoes of the souls Voldemort ripped away with the _Avada Kedavra_ curse rushed at the Dark Lord. But Harry didn’t break the connection—instead, with the two wands and their cores attached, Harry cast a spell.

The blood-red eyes of Voldemort met Harry Potter’s between the ghostly shadows of Frank Bryce, Bertha Jorkins, and James and Lily Potter; other figures were emerging from the still-connected wands, rising up and surrounding the frightened and furious Dark Lord.

Harry held his enemy’s eyes as he clearly stated the words to his next spell. “ _Avada Kedavra_ , Tom.”

The sizzling green spell launched itself along the still attached line of energy, deep green sparks spitting off into the space around them as it rushed towards the Dark Lord, who could not break the connection with the echoes around him plucking at his robes, swirling around him, their voices angry and patronising.

Harry saw his parents, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Marlene McKinnon, countless others he didn’t know—all of them surrounding the Dark Lord and then the spell connected, encasing Voldemort in a deep, emerald colour and cracking the air around him.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though time stopped… and then it rushed back like the air let of out a vacuum, collapsing in on Voldemort and causing the Dark Lord to burst apart.

Distantly, Harry could hear his Joe’s cheering and someone saying “Voldemort’s dead!” but in that moment, the green spellfire he sent to Voldemort came careening back towards Harry and engulfed him, swirling around him and blasting him backwards through the air in a haze of pain.

Then Harry knew no more.

**

Harry and Cedric were side-along apparated with Quentin and Remus, a bunch of other Joe’s surrounding them as they made their way towards Hogwarts at a brisk, fast pace. Cedric was eyeing the strange men in black wear, especially at the wands they carried in their left hands and the non-magical guns they carried in their right.

“When we get to the maze on the Quidditch pitch, I want the two of you to stay together and get out of the way. Make your way to the teachers and stay with them,” instructed Remus. “Do not leave with anyone, regardless if it’s Dumbledore or McGonagall, or Flitwick or anyone else. Wait for me.”

Cedric and Harry nodded, even if Harry was entirely unsure of why Remus was acting the way he was.

The gates opened at a wave of Remus’s hands – Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the gesture of wandless magic. But it was the emotion behind the gesture that had Harry gaping. The heavy iron gates slammed back against the rough stone columns, creaking and clanging loudly before swinging back at the group.

They never touched them; they were already far past the gate.

Harry could hear the screams and jeers from the crowd in the stands where they were.

“They must have seen him,” murmured Cedric to Harry, glancing at the fourteen year old beside him. “They must have seen You-Know-Who.”

Harry blanched. “Your parents… Merlin, they must have thought you died!”

Cedric’s face paled of all colour, and he looked around at the men surrounding the two. “My parents…?”

“Soon, Mr. Diggory,” replied Quentin. “We’re following protocol here.”

“Whose?” snapped the Hufflepuff.

Remus glanced back at the two Hogwarts students. “Mr. Houdini’s, Cedric.” With that said, they reached the entrance of the castle and bypassed it, moving down the worn dirt path to the Quidditch stands. Quietly, the group emerged from between to bleachers, just out of sight from where Dumbledore stood with Cedric’s parents, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and Mad-Eye Moody.

Moody saw the group first, his magical eye twisting in its socket to face them by rolling towards the back of his head… his body turned and the conversation was diverted, the rest looking the way Moody was facing.

“Cedric!” gasped out Mrs. Diggory, darting away from the group and pausing only briefly at the armed men surrounding the two teens. She reached forward and pulled Cedric into a strong embrace, smoothing his hair and checking him over for injuries.

“Mum, I’m fine,” said Cedric, trying to soothe her. “Really, I am. Just have a bump on my head!”

“My boy!” cried Amos Diggory, reaching his wife and son as well. Soon, the teachers, drawing the attention of the entire pitch as the crowd watched the two teens.

“Remus,” began Dumbledore, his mouth a firm, straight line. “What is going on here?”

Remus took his time in replying, looking predatory and glancing slowly as he took in the tense atmosphere the spectators were emitting the worry and fear and mild paranoia. Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, Moody, the Diggory's and Harry, as well as Remus and the Joe’s, were standing near the teacher and dignitary box. The box was situated directly in front of the entrance to the maze, with the spectator stands rising in the U-shape around the maze. They were drawing attention.

“Perhaps that is something for your office?” suggested Remus smoothly, glancing at Quentin and catching the older man’s eyes.

The Joe gave a miniscule nod at Remus, his eyes then darting at the uncomfortable-looking Harry, who stood beside the Diggory family.

Dumbledore missed the byplay. “Very well. Professor McGonagall, if you could please go to Hagrid’s vegetable patch, there will be a large black dog. If you could bring him up to the office…?”

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore as if he was insane, but hurriedly moved off. With that said, Flitwick was left to control the masses while Moody and Snape, who broke off from the spectator box to join them, followed the Headmaster. Remus motioned for Harry to join him; the Diggory’s fell in line behind and the rest was made up of the Joe’s.

The walk into the castle was silent and contemplative. Remus and Quentin ensured that either one of the two were between Moody and Harry and Cedric; the rest of the Joe’s ensured that they were ready to fight if the Death Eater made any movements.

At one point, Remus wondered what Dumbledore thought. Was he thinking about the horcruxes? About Tom Riddle and who he became? About Harry’s destiny and the prophecy?

As they neared the gargoyle, Dumbledore mumbled his password and the stone guardian leapt aside, revealing the stone staircase. Everyone piled on and the stairs rotated up to the Headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore absently waved the Elder wand—Remus wondered how it would work now that there were two versions of the same wand in the same reality—but the wand obeyed its master and conjured up several more chairs for the party.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk; Snape stood silently behind and off to the side of it, leaning against a tall bookshelf; Remus quickly beat Harry out for a seat and made sure he was in the chair closest to Moody, who was against the large cupboard that held Dumbledore’s knickknacks. Disgruntled, and shooting his uncle a dark look, Harry then moved to his seat while Cedric was gently ushered to sit in front of the desk, with his parents hovering just behind his chair.

The tiny office felt crowded, it wouldn’t be long until McGonagall, and Sirius arrived, making the already small space seem smaller.

“Harry…” began Dumbledore, who looked carefully at the young wizard. Then, sensing another avenue for information, the man turned his blue eyes on the Hufflepuff. “Cedric. Perhaps one of you could enlighten us as to what happened tonight. We all saw what happened from the rather _interesting_ pieces of technology that Cloak  & Dagger made for you… but I would like to hear it from your perspective.”

Harry and Cedric shared a look, glancing at each other and reading the other’s face. Cedric came out of the TriWizard Tournament better than Harry in terms of wounds; the elder wizard only had the large bump on his head from where he fell at the graveyard. Harry was covered in much more muck, grime, and blood. Cedric, realising that Harry needed to visit the hospital wing soon, gestured for him to begin.

 Harry began his version of events with Krum’s attack on Cedric. Mrs. Diggory made a sharp, whimpering noise from behind her son and grasped tightly onto his shoulder. Cedric winced but gamely did not tell his mother to remove her fingers.

Harry glanced at his schoolmate worriedly, but continued: he spoke about their teaming up, how much help Cedric had been, their idea to share the cup as a _Hogwarts_ win… then he began to speak about the Portkey trip.

He had recognised the graveyard, he began quietly, mentioning it was in his dreams back in the summer holidays. He knew of the house on the hill but he wasn’t sure whom it belonged to. The story continued, with Harry being knocked out and tied to the gravestone, of Pettigrew partaking in the ritual and how Voldemort could touch his face.

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled at the admission, just like how Harry Houdini had said they would when he showed Remus his original memory of the night. Remus was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. _Was Dumbledore going to say anything about Harry being a horcrux?_

Harry finished by trailing off the end of his point of view of the evening. “The next thing I knew, Uncle Remus was there with some of his employees, telling Mr. Quentin to take Cedric and I back to Hogwarts. I saw nothing else.”

Cedric collaborated the story, filling in details from his perspective that Harry did not notice—but they were minor details.

Remus felt his Chatter mirror vibrate in his trouser pocket, tucked securely there, and excused himself during Cedric’s retelling. The three Joe’s that followed the group, including Quentin, moved away from the door to allow Remus to pass through the Headmaster’s office to the staircase.

Out there, he turned his back on Dumbledore and Moody, and took the call. Piers’ face was grimy, sweat-stained and fatigued, but there was a trace of a smile on the man’s lips.

“Remus,” he began.

“Piers.”

“He’s dead. Voldemort’s dead.”

Remus felt his heart drop out of his stomach and then leap up into his throat, rendering him unable to speak for a moment.

Piers was continuing, “We got all the horcruxes, too. He’s definitely gone this time. For good. Harry did it.”

“And… Harry? How’s he doing?” asked Remus, sucking in his breath. _Please, please don’t let him be gone… not after all we did._

Piers halted in his conversation and something came over the South African man; Remus could physically see the change as Piers’ face drooped, his pallor became pale and his eyes dimmed. “Remus…”

“No. Piers, no.”

“I’m sorry. He cast _Avada Kedavra_ while still connected to the Prior Incantatem. There’s not even a body.”

Remus felt despair sweep through him. _Harry_ …

Piers ended the connection on the Chatter and absently Remus placed the mirror back into his pocket. The werewolf leaned against the cool, smooth wall of the staircase, resting his body. As he stood there, he took a deep breath, fashioned his face appropriately and let a mask slide on to cover the hurt he was feeling.

While he collected himself, McGonagall and Sirius, in dog form, came up the frozen staircase slowly. McGonagall took leave when she saw Remus standing outside the room, a final, curious look back at the large dog sitting patiently at Remus’s feet.

“We need to go back in, Padfoot,” muttered Remus, turning and opening the office door. The Joe’s stepped aside, none commenting on the dog that followed Remus. Instead, Sirius went straight to Harry and whined as he nosed the young wizard in the hand.

“Is everything alright, Remus?” asked Dumbledore, kindly, although everyone in the room could tell it was only a polite question as a social necessity. Cedric had finished his retelling by this point.

Remus briefly wondered if he should reveal what happened tonight, everyone would know soon enough, through the Quibbler, but perhaps it might speed things up here.

“Voldemort is dead,” announced Remus steadily.

There was complete silence for several moments before the predictable members in the room broke it in a clamour.

“ _What?_ ”

“How?”

“ _Impossible_!”

Remus pursed his lips into a tight line and explained, “Voldemort is dead. Cloak & Dagger received a tip that something would occur tonight during the TriWizard tournament and we set out to take the appropriate precautionary measures required to do damage control.”

“Remus,” began Dumbledore, slowly, “There are other factors at work here. If anything, your company has only delayed the inevitable and he will return.”

“No, he won’t,” stated Remus firmly. “We also destroyed all his horcruxes.”

Dumbledore’s breath was sucked in so suddenly and his aura, crackling magic, erupted. “Remus Lupin, _what have you done?_ ”

Remus’s temper blew. His emotions were already volatile that he didn’t need a scolding or dressing down from a man who ruined his friends’ life time after time. “We did what _you_ failed to do, Dumbledore, so shut the fuck up and get off your horse. You knew that Voldemort made more than one horcrux, or at least suspected. Well, we did one better and not only found all of them but destroyed them. All _seven_ of them.”

Dumbledore’s face was pale, frozen at Remus’s deadly outburst. Harry was half-out of his seat, but Padfoot’s whine compelled him to stay seated. The Diggory’s remained silent but Amos had a rather speculative look on his face.

“Seven…” breathed Dumbledore, slumping in his seat. A glance at Harry drew Remus’s attention.

“Yes, Dumbledore, that one too,” he said, answering the unasked question. The elder wizard’s bushy eyebrows rose so sigh his glasses slid to the end of his nose and threatened to fall completely off.

“Everything that you failed to do, _we_ did. _We_ picked up your slack, _we_ set things right. _We_ captured all the Death Eaters, _we_ fought them and killed the ones who weren’t going to surrender. _We_ battled Voldemort and won. What have you done for this community?”

The accusations came fast, clipped and _angry_. Remus felt the strength of his lycanthropy surging through his veins and visibly collected himself. Several deep breaths later, Remus finished the conversation. “Dumbledore, you’re a piss-poor educator. You’re a terrible leader of the light. You keep things too close to your chest and don’t tell those who trust you what they need to know to perform their tasks appropriately. You had _years_ to collect and find the horcruxes and you didn’t. So we’re cleaning up your mess. Deal with it.”

Remus turned to Quentin, gesturing for Harry and Padfoot to join him, as well as the Diggory’s, who, after a look at Dumbledore’s stricken face, wisely stood and joined Remus at the door.

“Quentin,” began the werewolf. The head of security perked up. “Please take the two Death Eaters in the room into custody. We’ll hand them over to the Aurors with the rest of the Death Eaters who remain alive tomorrow at some point after our interrogations. And if they don’t cooperate… well… handle it however you like.”

Remus ignored Dumbledore’s gasped “Remus!” and Snape’s bellow of rage or Moody’s roar of frustration as the Joe’s quickly intercepted them all, taking the Death Eater’s wands. Dumbledore remained too stunned to do anything but watch from his place being the desk.

The Diggory’s led the way out of the office first, with Mrs. Diggory speaking to Harry and asking him questions (Padfoot trotted beside). Remus turned back once, looking around the ostentatious office and the chaos his words created.

Dumbledore was struggling to gather his thoughts; the Joe’s had not only knocked out Snape, but had used tie-wraps on him and had snapped his wand. Moody – or rather, Barty Crouch Junior – was in the process of changing back to his true form as his Polyjuice ran its course. The young man was shouting and doing his best to fight back but three elite wizards, and Quentin, subdued him quickly.

The office had broken furniture, papers strewn everywhere and books were knocked off the shelf in the Snape struggle. But it was glorious to see Dumbledore put in his place, Snape knocked out and beyond Dumbledore’s help, and the Death Eaters rounded up. Remus felt a smirk twitch onto his lips.

_Mischief managed, Harry. Mischief managed._

**

**Dorset** **. Cloak & Dagger Headquarters. July, 1995.**

 

            Harry Potter was not entirely sure why his uncle Remus was escorting him to Cloak & Dagger in the middle of the summer holidays. Especially with the media going bonkers over everything that happened on the night of the Third Task.

            Harry sighed. Since that night, Harry Houdini’s disappearance, the return of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his defeat at the hands of Harry Houdini, the capture of Peter Pettigrew and the clearing of his godfather’s name, as well as the capture of the many Death Eaters who flocked to Voldemort’s call… it had been a busy few weeks.

            The media hounded Harry and Cedric constantly upon their arrival at Hogwarts the next day, having been the only two Champions alive to see Voldemort’s resurrection and the beginning of Houdini’s fight with the dark wizard. Reporters clamoured for their quotes, their impressions. Their classmates asked them the same questions, interrupting lessons with retelling of the last Blood War.

            Harry was tired of it all. He just wanted to go back to his home in Wales and crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head and wish the summer away.

            Because every time someone asked him about Houdini, Harry didn’t know what to say. Voldemort died thinking the man he was fighting was James Potter, back from the dead. But Harry saw the scar. He knew that wasn’t true.

            It didn’t make sense! It couldn’t be true…

            … but who would believe him if he told anyone? If he said that he killed Voldemort, only a version of him that was older, jaded and far more dangerous than he would ever be?

            So Harry swallowed his suspicions and kept them secret, locked away deep within him, forgetting he even saw his counterpart’s face that evening.

            Until now.

            Remus did not speak, solemnly leading him up through twisting corridors until they entered a large boardroom near the CEO office. Houdini’s office. _Merlin above,_ his _office_.

            Remus nodded cordially at one of the youngest men in the room, who was sitting near the head of the table, just left to the empty chair at the head. The one Remus was leading Harry towards.

            The young Potter swallowed his fear and the lump that suddenly grew in his throat. Silently, he took the seat at the head of the table, feeling like lightning would strike him down as soon as he sat in it. He remained tense and edgy as Remus sat in the chair to his right.

            A quick glance down the table had Harry recalling the names of the Heads of Cloak & Dagger: Remus, Camilla, Yui, Edith, Sebastian, Justine, his godfather Sirius, Piers, and Jonathan on his left.

            “Harry…” began Remus, softly. Harry flinched violently, but forced himself to face Remus. “Um, there are some things that we need to take care of today. It… it will be a lot to take in, but you deserve to know these things.”

            Harry nodded. Remus took a breath and asked, “Do you have any questions before we start?”

            Harry paused, looking at the people in the room. Either they were looking at him hungrily or sadly, like he was an image of someone they knew and missed. They must have known who Houdini was, realised Harry suddenly. His Uncle Remus must have known too, the entire time.

            “He was me, wasn’t he?” asked Harry, in a convoluted, roundabout way. His voice was matter-of-fact, sad and simple.

            Remus jerked back, startled, but a small smile crept onto his face. Everyone in the room looked at Harry the same way, but his godfather. Perhaps Sirius didn’t know…?

            “Yes, Harry. You’re right. Houdini was you,” replied Remus gently.

            “What?” barked Sirius from where he was sitting, eyes wide.

            Remus turned to face the last Marauder. “Harry Houdini was, in reality, Harry Potter from the future. When he was twenty-seven, Harry learned that he was ingesting a variant of _Amortentia_ , which caused a less severe reaction to the subject of the potion. It allowed for a gradual increase in affection over a long period of time, which could finally result in the subject of the potion being weaned off it after several years. The potion would then retain its potency. It is liquid Imperius.”

            “It’s also illegal in every single magical country and state in the world,” inputted Edith, who along with Sebastian studied the potion. “While not as potent as Amortentia, it’s ten times as dangerous because it completely destroys the free will of the subject of the potion. They become a shadow, a shell of themselves.”

            “And Harry was drinking this?” asked Sirius, aghast. It seemed as though he was accepting that Houdini was his godson from the future, but Remus was sure he was just trying to rationalise and pick something to focus on first before he would go back to the revelation of his time-travelling godson.

            “Yes,” answered Remus, continuing the story. “But that’s not all. When Harry learned of this, he went to confront his wife and mother-in-law. They confirmed it, but Ginny—” Remus glanced at the started Harry Potter—“then revealed something far worse.”

            “What was it?” breathed Harry, fascinated, disgusted, and completely taken with the tale.

            Remus frowned. “She revealed that Harry discovered the truth about the love potions before. He discovered that he was not the only one of his friends who was doused with the potion and how they were all being used and guided through their spouse for another reason—an ultimate goal of some kind.

            “Harry never discovered what that goal was. But he did learn something else—Ginny used a spell on Harry that was supposed to send his soul back into his one-year-old body, without his memories, to relive his life over again.”

            Harry gapped openly at the idea of having to go live with the Dursleys. Had Houdini not intervened with Remus, would Harry still be in the cupboard under the stairs? Would he be at Stonewall Secondary, or at Hogwarts? Would he have finally died, succumbing to one of Vernon’s violent beatings?

            It didn’t bear thinking about. Those things didn’t happen. Houdini had saved Harry from the Dursleys.

            “We came across a similar spell,” inputted Justine, taking up the story from Remus and drawing the attention of those in the boardroom. “While it’s not an exact translation or the same spell, it has enough similarities that we were able to piece things together.”

            “How does it work?” asked Harry, turning his full attention to the witch. If someone had used this spell on a version of him before, he wanted to know what to watch out for in the future!

            Justine cleared her throat. “We back-tracked it using Harry’s memories and the notes his source gave him before the time jump. Essentially, we think Dumbledore may have come across the spell in the first reality—now, hang on here because this is where it’s going to get tricky: in the first reality, Dumbledore discovered the spell and for whatever reason, he sent Harry back in time to relive his life. From the notes, we can only assume it is because Harry didn’t fall into line with Dumbledore’s ‘grand vision’ because he sent Harry back after Harry was in his _sixties_.

“Thus began the second reality with Dumbledore retaining _his_ memory of the event. He now knows the spell and knows where to find the spell… whether it is in a book, a scroll, or whatever.

            “Harry lost his memory but Dumbledore didn’t. Now, maybe Dumbledore wasn’t sure that he’d live long enough in the second reality, so he told the spell to Snape to use as a last resort. And, according to Harry’s notes, Ginny mentioned that Snape sent Harry back again for a third time when he was sorted into Slytherin.”

            Here, Harry Potter made a face. He was proud to be a Gryffindor!

            There were some stifled smiles around the table at the sight. Jonathan continued for Justine. “We’re now into the third reality. Snape’s retained his memory of the spell but Dumbledore doesn’t know about it now. He’s also lost some of the vital information, such as where Dumbledore originally found the spell because he didn’t tell Snape. They’re now passing on information verbatim to each other, losing information of what the spell does or how it truly works each time they cast it.

“Some more stuff happens in this reality and instead of Dumbledore or Snape making Harry relive his life, it’s Molly Weasley who’s not happy with how things are going. Maybe Harry and Ginny didn’t get together. Maybe he had an affair with Hermione. Maybe Ginny had an affair. Who the hell knows—we just know that she tried the spell out and sent Harry back into the fourth reality.”

Remus cleared his throat and continued for Jonathan, catching Harry’s attention and speaking clearly, if not softly.  “This leads us to the world we knew Harry came from. In the fourth reality, Harry defeated Voldemort at the age of seventeen while camping out with Ron and Hermione and searching for the horcruxes. Many friends and people he cared about died, Sirius and me included.”

            Harry was sure he face reflected the horror he felt at the thought of losing his Uncle Moony and godfather.

            Remus smiled gently and reached out to touch Harry’s arm. “Dumbledore and Snape were also dead; Molly Weasley remembered the spell and once Harry and Ginny were married, she taught it to Ginny in case anything would happen. Think of it as a precaution. When nothing happened for several years, things settled… until Harry received information from his employer about Ginny and Molly’s use of sanctioned love potions on Harry… and his friends.”

            “But why would she do that? Why would Mrs. Weasley do that to me, or Hermione or anyone else? And Ginny?” asked Harry, thinking back to the shy redheaded girl who sat with her friends at the house table. He couldn’t picture the little girl becoming the vixen and bitch Remus was painting.

            “Who knows, Harry,” answered Remus patiently. “Harry Houdini never found it out, either. All he knows was that he confronted his wife and mother-in-law, which led to him chasing her out of the house and a duel on their property.”

            “And then she cast the spell,” finished Harry quietly, looking down at the wooden tabletop.

            “Yes,” agreed Remus, just as quietly. “She did.”

            “But how did Harry keep his memories?” asked Sirius, piping up from his seat.

            Yui raised a hand to take the question. “Mr. Black, Harry kept his memories because his line of work required him to be knowledgeable in various magical fields for safety purposes. While he did not have to be a master of all his trades, he had to be competent enough in them. Moreover, one of those he needed to know was Runes. On the night of Ginny’s attempt of the spell, Harry changed whatever runes he recognised into something else that made sense to _him_. The backlash of the spell was to send him into the past, as Ginny intended, but with his memories intact and with his current body.”

            The room was silent, allowing the two who didn’t know of Harry Houdini to absorb the information presented. There were still many unanswered questions, but Harry was sure he could wait for another day to have them answered, especially if Remus knew Harry Houdini as well as he was hinting at.

            “So what am I doing here, then?” asked Harry, getting back to the original reason.

            There was some shuffling as those at the table settled more comfortably into their leather chairs. Remus pulled out a briefcase from the floor beside his chair and opened it. He pulled out several heavy-looking pieces of paper, all cream coloured and thick.

            He hesitated, then slid them across to Harry to look at. A single gold ballpoint pen was placed next to Harry’s left hand.

            “When Harry created Cloak & Dagger, he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t survive his final plan. It was always to destroy Voldemort,” stated Remus, ensuring that he caught Harry’s eyes as he spoke. “His sole purpose for creating the company was to publicly announce Voldemort’s return so there was no smear campaign against you, like there was when the TriWizard tournament happened in his reality; but also to prevent the multitude of deaths that his reality experienced. He wanted to save you from the same fate he was manipulated into by taking the role of Voldemort’s destroyer.”

            Harry stared into Remus’s amber-coloured eyes and saw beyond the words his uncle was speaking; there was a reason why Harry Houdini fought Voldemort to the death that Remus was not saying. Harry would speak to him about it… but another time.

            “Harry knew he wouldn’t survive,” said Jonathan quietly as Harry looked hard at the papers in front of him. “But he wanted the company to go on. Remus can’t legally hold a company in his name, being a werewolf, and the rest of us declined.”

            “So he left it to you,” whispered Remus. “He left everything of his to you—who better than the same person as himself? The Potter trust ensured you never had to work if you didn’t want to, but… Harry wanted you to have something you could play with and create things with. He wanted you to bring a new era to the wizard world with our non-magical electronics and to help change the world.”

            _No pressure_ , thought Harry darkly for a moment, but the thought left him just as quickly as it arrived. Harry had wondered what he wanted to be when he ‘grew up,’ and Hermione was going on about how in their fifth year they would have career counselling…

            At one point in his life, Harry thought to be an Auror. Fame and glory from Quidditch never interested him and he wasn’t as interested in Herbology as Neville was, or brain-crunching jobs like Hermione geared towards…

            But the possibility of _creation_? Or to take something and make it new? Images and ideas began flowing into Harry’s brain and suddenly he realised why Harry Houdini did some of the things he did. There was reason to his madness, it seemed—and who knew Harry best than himself, really?

            Harry reached forward and gripped the gold pen in his right hand, and began signing.

**

            Harry’s wrists still ached from signing the papers hours later as he, Remus, and Sirius left the Cloak & Dagger building, deciding to forgo the apparition point in the basement. Harry would have all the time in the world to discover the nooks and crannies that the previous CEO had created.

            They walked through the shiny gates at the edge of the company property, turning off the paved road and walking down the country lane. No cars passed them, leaving them to their thoughts. Harry was sure that Sirius was having trouble dissecting the idea of his time-travelling godson and all he sacrificed for the good of this reality, but Harry was more concerned about Remus. Sirius only knew of Harry Houdini briefly and more in passing—for Remus, Harry Houdini was a friend.

            Glancing at his uncle from the corner of his eye, Harry began to wonder. What was Harry Houdini like as a wizard and man? Why did he choose to do the things he did? His life experiences made him stronger—did he not think that Harry could be just as strong as he was? Who were his best friends? What was he afraid of? _Was_ he afraid of anything?

            There were more and more questions piling up in Harry’s head and soon he realised other than the public persona that Harry Houdini adopted, Harry knew nothing about his doppelganger.

            “What was he like?” blurted out Harry suddenly, the words escaping his mouth and tumbling into the silent air, sharp like staccato notes.

            Remus nearly missed a step in their stride, glancing down at his pseudo-nephew with wide eyes. He recovered, frowned a bit and thought.

            Harry was sure that Remus would not answer; Harry Houdini’s missing body likely meant the man was dead or else in another reality with no way of returning. Remus would be mourning his friend.

            “He was a great man.”

            Both Harry and Sirius turned to Remus. The words were spoken softly, kindly. More followed.

            “Some people do things because they want the recognition. Others do it because they want the money. Harry… he did those things because he could. Because he realised he was the only one who could do them and he wasn’t afraid of doing it all over again if it meant those he cared about and loved were safe.

            “Do you know what the word ‘ _great’_ is defined as? Of someone with exceptional talents or achievements, being remarkable or arising from the idealism of thought or action.” Remus had a faraway look on his face, as he stared down the country road and towards the horizon. Sirius and Harry greedily drank up the serene look on Remus’s face.

Soon, Remus was speaking as though to himself. “Harry… what Harry Houdini, that other version of you… what he did was _beyond_ greatness. He was greater than the average person, and a lesser being for being so selfless. He never once thought about himself, or what he wanted out of life. He thought only of you, of his friends and those he lost.”

Remus shook himself, coming out of whatever mood he was in and glanced down at Harry, walking between him and Sirius, with a smile. “You want to know more about Harry Houdini? Harry, do I have _stories_ to tell you…!”

            A smile broke out across Harry’s face; beside him, he saw Sirius begin to smile too. He might never grow up to be the same as Harry Houdini, but he could learn about the man he was and do his best to be someone that Harry would be proud to call _Potter_.

            After all, Harry Houdini was a man of greatness.

            Harry Potter could be one, too.

**

**Brecon Beacons. November, 2008: 3:23am. 4 hours later.**

 

            Harry moaned, a hand reaching up to clutch at his aching head. That last feedback blast had sent him careening away from Voldemort violently, and creating a painful landing on unforgiving ground.

            “ _Moo_?”

            Harry winced as he opened one eye, then another. _Good Merlin_ , he thought, _I’m blind!_

            It took him a few moments to realise it was night and that was the only reason he couldn’t see properly. A murmured “lumos” had the Elder wand’s tip light up as a soft, pale yellow orb.

            The cow in front of him gave another startled “moo” and skipped away, only to forget about Harry completely. It went back to chewing grass.

            Stiffly, Harry rose to his feet, wondering why they were so cold… looking down he bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing.

 _Well, that settled things!_ He thought, wiggling his sock-clad feet. His boots had, once again, been blow off his feet in the blast. If that was any indication… a wicked smile overcame his face.

In socks, Harry strode south, back towards the large country home he could see in the distance. There would be no wards alerting those within of his approach; he was still within the protective wards of the estate. In fact, he would give no warning at all to the occupants of the home.

He stealthily approached, silent and dark, melting into the inky blackness. No moon shone, and his wand’s light was extinguished long before he was in range of the estate.

As Harry crept up to the back, kitchen entrance, he stopped for a moment to peek into the house through one of the dark windows. His wife, Ginny Weasley, sat with her back slightly angled to the window, a hand held mirror in her left hand. A dry cloth tissue was in her right. Harry watched with morbid fascination as Ginny’s face crumpled into its self, her shoulders shaking as she nestled the tissue against her eyes.

Then, she stopped and peeked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dry and makeup pristine. She was practicing faces for the announcement of Harry’s death.

The Boy-Who-Lived and Man-Who-Conquered smirked, eyes judging the distance of Ginny and the back door. _Let the games begin,_ he thought darkly, and slipped the Elder wand into his waiting hand. The wand purred its satisfaction, as dark as Harry’s thoughts were.

Ginny didn’t know what hit her. One moment she was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at her reflection and trying different expressions and faces for Harry’s very public funeral, and the next moment she was pinned against the far wall with the heavy back door holding her legs down. Her wand was out and ready to do battle, but the damn door wouldn’t budge!

“Oh, Ginny,” began a mocking voice she thought she’d never hear again, causing her look up at the figure in the doorway.

Ginny paled and shivered in fear as she took in Harry Potter’s dark, blood-smeared and dirty face; his hitwizard gear was scorched in places and his robes tattered. Harry looked older, with premature grey at his temples and a few more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Yet, strangely, it was his dirty white socks and emerald eyes that Ginny remembered most in those final moments.

Those emerald eyes burned with hate as they stared into hers; speaking words, she thought she’d never hear again.

“ _I’m home!_ ”

**

FIN


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